


Unspeakable

by honeyMellon



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:17:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1481020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyMellon/pseuds/honeyMellon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eighteen months after the fall of Aizen Sosuke, Ichigo struggles to get used to his new, "normal" life. But it isn't easy to forget, not when you've gone through so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The door slammed shut and shuddered along with the door frame for a good five seconds before settling down. Yuzu and Karin were out getting ingredients for dinner, so Ichigo didn't have to worry about startling the girls.

He was bloody tired. Sick of answering the same question every day, sick of seeing the smiles that were laced with worry and pity. Did they really expect that if they asked "How are you?" more frequently, the answer would suddenly change one day? He knew his friends were only trying to help, but there was nothing they could do to help him cope with this.

It had been eighteen months since Aizen fell. Eighteen months since he lost his powers. Eighteen long months since he saw Rukia, Renji, and all his other shinigami friends. He supposed they could come visit him in gigai form, but he knew that would only prolong his sorrow and drag out the process of his supposed "healing".

Ichigo snorted. How does one heal from having such a big chunk of your soul ripped out like this? Certainly, he had gladly paid the price at the time. He knew, as Tensa Zangetsu's blade sank into his chest, that he would be losing a part of himself in his bid to achieve the final form of his zanpakutou. And he had not hesitated.

But he had not expected this to be so difficult. Every time Ishida suddenly bolted from the classroom, using the lame excuses of a stomach ache, or some invisible ailment that required immediate medical attention, Ichigo's jaw would unconsciously clench. In frustration or envy? Or perhaps it was jealousy. He didn't know anymore.

" _What I want to protect is different from what you want to protect._ "

Tensa Zangetsu's voice echoed in his mind. Sometimes he would lay awake for hours at night, just rolling those words over and over in his head as though doing so would somehow summon the spirit of his zanpakutou. He still remembered the sadness etched in Tensa Zangetsu's face. It had been a difficult farewell.

There was one other thing that grated on his already-frayed nerves. He hated to admit it, but every time leaves rustled over his head, or when a stray piece of paper flew past on his way home, his heart would race, and a jolt of excitement would lance through his body. His eyes would light up in desperate hope even though he knew it wasn't possible. And he would imagine Rukia, standing on a branch looking down at him.

Perhaps they did check on him. He wouldn't know. Heck, they could be standing right beside him now for all he knew. He had lost his spiritual power so thoroughly that he could not even feel the slightest trace of  _reiatsu_  anymore. He no longer saw spirits, nor hollows.

He had told the others that he was grateful for the normalcy in his new life, yet he knew that a part of him yearned for the return to his former, more turbulent, more complicated life.

His father had steadfastly refused to speak of the events, acting as though he never appeared in front of Ichigo in shinigami form. After being brushed off for the third time, Ichigo decided to let it go. He had hidden it for fifteen years, he could easily continue to hide it. Perhaps he thought that talking about it would cause more grief for his son. But all Ichigo wanted was a chance to feel connected to that world again.

Or did he? Did he really want to hold on to those painful memories? Ichigo sighed as he landed on his back on his bed.

"Ichi-nii!" Yuzu's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Huh, he hadn't even heard the front door opening and closing. Apparently even his human senses had dulled. He wondered briefly if it was a side effect from losing his powers, but dismissed it with a scowl. He was simply distracted by his daydream. This was getting unhealthy, he admonished himself.

"What is it, Yuzu?" he called from the top of the stairs.

Yuzu's cheerful face appeared. "What would you like to eat for dinner today, Ichi-nii?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with affection for her brother.

Ichigo tapped a slim finger on his chin and pondered, more for show than the actual need of thinking about food. "Curry?" he asked, flashing a smile at his little sister.

The girl's light blond hair bobbed in the air as she nodded. "I'm so glad that I got those carrots, then!" she said. Then, turning to the direction of the kitchen, she called out to Karin. "See! It's a good thing I didn't go to that shop with you!"

Ichigo's eyebrow cocked inquiringly.

His sister noticed his expression and explained, "Karin insisted on going to that weird store on the way back, but I wanted to buy more vegetables, so I didn't go with her."

"What weird store?" Ichigo frowned as he descended the stairs. Poking his head around the corner of the wall separating the staircase and the living area, he casted a curious look at his dark-haired sister. He wasn't nosy by any means, but it was different when it came to the girls.

Karin rolled her eyes. "It's not  _weird_ ," she grumbled, stuffing a bag of tomatoes into the fridge roughly.

Ichigo crossed his arms over his chest. His unspoken question was clear.

"It's nothing," his sister mumbled under her breath. "I ran out of some supplies."

Ichigo's eyebrows shot up even higher, but he recognized the stubborn look on Karin's face. She took after him more than he would like. When he sported an expression like that, it meant that the discussion was over. So instead of probing further, he shrugged. "As long as you keep out of trouble," he said, then he reached out to ruffle Karin's hair. The girl scowled.

Inwardly Ichigo decided that he would find out for himself what this "weird store" was, even if it meant having to sneak around following Karin for several days. He couldn't have his sister getting involved in anything suspicious now, could he? Spirits and hollows aside, there were plenty of other dangers lurking in this world, especially for innocent young girls like his sisters. Dangers that he  _could_  protect them from.

Keeping his thoughts to himself, he helped Karin put away the rest of the groceries while Yuzu put on her apron. Watching Yuzu bustle about the kitchen in a motherly manner made his lips curl up in a rare smile. They were the only reason this whole thing was bearable. Had he been completely alone in the world, he would have lost his mind long ago.

 _I'm not alone_ , Ichigo corrected himself fiercely. He forced himself to think of Inoue, Ishida, and Sado. Even if they could not help him now, they had gone through so much together. It was just unfortunate that they were no longer walking the same path.

_I'm not alone._

* * *

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

The first two days were uneventful; Ichigo even began to feel foolish as he sat, out of sight, at the top of a grassy slope overlooking the small soccer field where Karin was ordering her teammates around. She was good, he noted. Much better than the scrawny little boys who were trying to catch with her. They adored her, Ichigo could tell, worshipped her as their leader, and possibly a little beyond that. Innocent teenage infatuation, perhaps.

Ichigo stretched his legs and stared further out. If he squinted hard enough he could see Inoue's apartment complex. Briefly, he wondered how she was doing. He knew she worked part-time at a bread shop; she'd been nice enough to bring him some leftovers. At first, she came over almost daily and tried her best to cheer him up with her girly giggles and shy attempts at conversation. But over time, she began to sense the unspoken barrier between them, and her visits lessened, and eventually ceased altogether. Now their interactions were reduced to curt nods and stiff smiles..

He bowed his head, shoulders hunched. He did feel bad for driving her away, but he couldn't bear sitting there listening to her overly-cheerful laughter and funny stories. He could only force himself to smile so often; being around her, he felt compelled to smile, and it drained his energy. It was better this way, he tried to tell himself. She still had a crush on him, and that needed to stop. Ichigo knew he could never return her feelings; the sooner she realized that, the better for them both.

And then the third day rolled along, and Ichigo's efforts finally paid off. He waited around the corner, just outside the gates of Karin's middle school, and when his sisters walked out together, he peered out. It always fascinated him how different the twins were; Yuzu was gentle and reminded him of a daisy—a warm heart surrounded by untarnished innocence, while Karin was more like fire—steady as a pilot light on good days, but could just as easily flare up into a wildfire when she lost her temper. Just like him, Ichigo mused dryly.

He heard their voices, muffled but just enough for him to catch a few words here and there. Karin was asking Yuzu to go home without her. Yuzu offered to accompany her to wherever she was going—Ichigo couldn't make out the words there—but Karin declined. After a couple more minutes, he heard the girls bid each other farewell, then to his chagrin, Yuzu began to head his way.

Pressing himself against the wall, Ichigo willed himself to dissolve into the background, but to his relief, Yuzu simply marched straight on, her eyes trained only on the path ahead of her. Ichigo waited until she was at least six feet away, then, peeking his head out to make sure that Karin had her back towards him, he slid out soundless from the wall and began to follow her.

One good thing about his experience being a shinigami was that, even though he had lost his power, his body had become accustomed to strenuous physical stress and had become lean and strong. He had worked hard to maintain it over the past eighteen months. It wasn't easy; nothing could train his body as effectively as battles of life and death.

Still, whatever skills his body had picked up during his time as a warrior was enough for him to move without detection. But then again, he couldn't really say that he deserved all the credit; Karin looked lost in her own world, and probably would not have noticed even if he were to walk directly behind her. Her hands were stuffed deep inside her pockets, her baseball cap pulled low. Her hair had grown longer, but she still kept it tied up in a ponytail, and now it swayed in time with her stride, brushing the nape of her neck like a pendulum.

His brows furrowed as they began to enter a familiar part of town. With a start, he suddenly knew what that "weird store" was. He kicked himself for not figuring it out sooner; Urahara Shoten was, after all, quite possibly the shadiest shop on the planet. He felt a flicker of rage and curiosity in his chest—what had Karin got to do with Urahara Kisuke?

He had always had mixed feelings about that man. He quickly ran over some of the man's traits in his head and decided that he really didn't like the idea of Karin being anywhere near Urahara Kisuke.

But he didn't want Karin to know that he had been following her, so he waited outside the compound. Just as his patience began to fray out of worry, he heard Karin's voice.

"Are you sure I don't have to pay for these?" Karin said, sounding skeptical and a little suspicious.

Ichigo silently applauded her apparent distrust towards the sneaky bastard.

The shopkeeper's voice was thick with sweetness. "But of course! Your brother has done so much for us, think of this as a gesture of gratitude."

Ichigo couldn't hear his sister's reply, but judging from the amused chuckle from the blonde man, it must've been something not quite polite.

As Karin's footsteps approached, Ichigo held his breath and kept still. He stared at her back, and then his eyes went to the bag held in her hand—it was filled to the brim, the contents straining against the thin layer of plastic. He squinted, trying to identify the items, but all he could make out was that they were boxes.

If the person involved was not Urahara, Ichigo's first thought would be drugs. But since it  _was_  Urahara, he feared worse.

He waited until Karin rounded a corner and disappeared, then, no longer worried about being seen, he stalked towards the front door of the shop. But before he could knock, the door flung open, revealing the very person he was looking for.

"Ah! Here's a visitor we don't see everyday!" The striped bucket hat bobbed as the blonde surveyed Ichigo from head to toe. He sounded surprised, but Ichigo had no doubt that the man already knew he was there. Just because Ichigo couldn't sense  _reiatsu_  anymore didn't mean others could not sense him, especially someone as skilled as Urahara.

"Cut the crap," Ichigo growled, his voice a little rougher than he intended. But what's done was done, and so he just stood there and stared at the shopkeeper, his gaze boring into the grey eyes. "You know why I'm here."

Urahara raised his eyebrows and his easy smile dimmed slightly. Stepping aside, he gestured with his fan for Ichigo to enter the shop, and the boy did so without hesitation. He sat himself down at the low table in the living room—a place he was thoroughly familiar with.

"Tea?" the shopkeeper asked light-heartedly, as though Ichigo was here for a simple social call.

"Why was Karin here?" Ichigo demanded, blatantly ignoring the man's question.

The blonde settled down cross-legged at the table across from Ichigo. "But I think you already know, or at least, have some suspicions."

Ichigo glared at him. "I'm not here to play games. Just answer my question."

Urahara clucked and shook his head in feigned disappointment. "So impatient, as always, Kurosaki-kun," he said. Reaching up, he tugged his hat a little lower, and his eyes disappeared into the shadows. "As you know, you're not the only one in your family who has high spiritual pressure."

Ichigo grunted in agreement.

" _You_  had the means to act on what you saw," the blonde went on. "Your sister, on the other hand, has no power to do so."

"What did you give her?" Ichigo asked, suddenly understanding what the shopkeeper was implying.

Urahara waved his hand dismissively in the air. "Oh, just a little repellent, a couple of self-defense equipments. Nothing dangerous."

"Self-defense?" Ichigo immediately perked up.

The shopkeeper eyes widened slightly in the universal sign of "oops". "Of course, she did not tell you," he said, sounding a little sheepish. "I should've known."

Ichigo felt a tremor of rage in his chest. "What happened?" His voice was sharp, his face fierce.

Urahara sighed as though it pained him to speak. "Almost a year ago, your sister was attacked," he began.

The boy was on his feet in an instance, fists clenched, elbows bent as if the attacker was in the room with them. "What? Why didn't  _you_  tell me?"

The blonde looked up at him through a fridge of pale eyelashes, not bothering to stand up himself. "And what could you have done if I did, Kurosaki-kun?" His tone was not condescending, but it hit a nerve.

One second Ichigo was standing across from him, and the next, the boy had his collar in a tightly coiled fist. Ichigo's mouth curled up in a snarl, his eyes narrowed into slits. "How dare you..."

Urahara rested a cool palm on the boy's trembling forearm. "Please, calm down," he said, his voice even as though he didn't have someone breathing threateningly in his face at the moment.

Asking someone like Ichigo to "calm down" at the height of his anger only served the same purpose as pouring oil onto a flame. The boy bristled, and his grip tightened. With a low growl deep in his throat, Ichigo said, "Don't treat me like I'm some weak, useless piece of—"

The older man interrupted, "I said no such thing." His voice remained placid, but it pissed Ichigo off even more to hear the shopkeeper speaking as if nothing was amiss.

"If Karin had been hurt—" Ichigo hissed, leaning even closer, his vivid orange hair brushing against the brim of Urahara's hat.

"She wasn't," the blonde said. "I happened to be close by."

Things would've been alright if he had stopped there, but he was unfortunate enough to continue, "Really, Kurosaki-kun, you need to have better control of your emotions."

Something snapped inside Ichigo.

"Better control?" He started laughing, his voice dripped with disbelief. "I've done  _nothing_  but control myself in the past eighteen fucking months!"

Urahara's eyes flickered with the realization that he had misspoken. "I didn't mean it that way, Kurosaki—"

Ichigo let go of the man's collar and staggered backwards. "Then what did you mean? That I should just suck it up and act like I don't give a shit that my sister nearly got killed—"

"Believe me, it was nowhere  _that_  dangerous," the shopkeeper said with a hint of exasperation.

" _Do not_   _patronize me_ , Urahara Kisuke." Ichigo's blood boiled at the sound of the man's voice. First he hinted at Ichigo's lack of ability to protect his sister, and then now he's playing it down as though Karin's safety was not a big deal? It was as though the man was challenging him with an unspoken " _what could you have done anyway?_ ".

At the thought, he stepped towards the shopkeeper and yanked the man to his feet by the collar. Urahara could've easily deflected that, but he stood up obediently, holding his body slack and letting Ichigo shove him around. The boy's eyes narrowed further.

"Do you pity me, is that what it is?" Ichigo growled, pushing the blonde into the wall, knocking over the displays on the shelf next to them. "Do you pity me so much that you won't even defend yourself?" He leaned into the man and breathed menacingly into his face.

"Kurosaki-kun, please, you're overreacting," Urahara said, an admonishing tone finally creeping into his voice. He caught the sudden dilation of the irises barely an inch away from his face and realized too late that he had once again misspoken.

"You want out of control? I'll fucking  _give_  you 'out of control'!" the boy snarled, digging his nails into the blonde's arm, pinning him to the wall. Then, with a harsh inhalation of breath, Ichigo drew his free arm back and swung it forward. His tightly clenched fist connected with Urahara's jaw with a satisfying smack; a jarring pain shot up Ichigo's arm, and Urahara's face snapped sharply to the side.

"Why won't you fucking defend yourself?" the boy hissed, his reddened knuckles still hovering in the air.

Blood dribbled down the shopkeeper's split lip, but the man did not utter a sound throughout the exchange. He simply stood there with his back pressed against the wall and looked at Ichigo through wary, half-lidded eyes.

The stare and the silence unnerved Ichigo. "Fuck this," Ichigo spat and let go of Urahara's arm.

Then, without a word, he turned on his heels and stormed out of the store, leaving the older man standing frozen on the spot. Urahara stared at the boy's retreating back with a thoughtful frown, oblivious to the throbbing pain from the deep cut on his lip.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

Ichigo woke up with a groan, stung to his senses by the harsh sunlight shining directly into his eyes. Apparently, he had forgotten to draw the curtains before he fell asleep last night. Cursing under his breath, he got onto his knees and dragged the curtain closed. Then, with a sigh, he plopped back onto the bed, grunting when the impact knocked the wind out of his lungs.

It was a good thing that it was a Saturday, otherwise he would have to take a leave of absence from school, and whenever that happened, he would only draw more attention onto himself. Yuzu, especially, would be worried sick.

He was staring at the ceiling debating if he should go downstairs to grab pain medication for his headache when the dull ache of a fresh bruise caused him to wince. Feeling a little confused, he looked for the source of pain. It didn't take long to find—the knuckles on his right hand were marred with splotches of purple.

Of course, how could he forget.

The fire in his chest had taken a few hours to douse. When he got home last night, he was still fuming, the blonde shopkeeper's smooth voice etched deeply into his mind. " _Really, Kurosaki-kun, you need to have better control of your emotions._ " How dare the man throw the words around like he knew what Ichigo was going through?

But, true to Ichigo's nature, a fierce sense of guilt immediately consumed him as soon as the last bits of anger seeped away. Urahara had been watching out for his sister after all. He didn't believe for a minute that the blonde just "happened" to be close by when Karin was attacked; the man had probably rushed to the scene when he sensed the danger.

And how did Ichigo repay him for the trouble? With a punch in the jaw.

Ichigo let out a mirthless laugh. Way to go, he congratulated himself. Way to show the man that you're stable and sane, he thought wryly.

By the time he finally forced himself out of bed and into the washroom, he had already wasted a good part of the morning. He went over his morning ritual hurriedly, threw on the first thing he could reach in the closet, and then hopped into the pair of jeans that lay crumpled on the floor next to his bed.

He was glad to find the kitchen empty; his father had probably taken the girls out. He didn't feel the least bit sad or offended at the lack of an invitation; he would've declined anyway.

It wasn't until he was halfway through a bowl of cereal that he finally slowed down and thought seriously about what he was going to do about Urahara Kisuke. He had to apologize somehow, that much he knew, but that didn't mean he knew how to go about it.

The blonde man was really quite a specimen. Ichigo knew better than to write him off as the goofball that the man tried so hard to play. He was absolutely brilliant, and seemed to have an endless pit of knowledge; Ichigo didn't think it would be possible to know how much he kept under that stupid hat.

It was the eyes, Ichigo decided. Those slate-grey eyes were the most mysterious part of the man; depending on when you look into them, they could hold a flirtatious, playful smirk, or the faraway look of one lost in deep thoughts, or the dark gleam of murderous intent. But there was always a spark of life in them, no matter how dire the situation.

Before he knew it, the bowl was empty, and he was forced to admit that he couldn't delay it any longer. Ready or not, he would have to face Urahara. Ichigo could be an impulsive asshole sometimes, but he was no coward. Not by a long shot.

Still, he wasn't prepared for the sight of the blonde's swollen, blood-crusted lip.

The man didn't pretend to look surprised when he opened the door for Ichigo today, but he wasn't hostile either. He just seemed...eerily  _normal_. He offered the boy a cup of tea, and Ichigo had accepted it absent-mindedly, his eyes frozen on the injury that he had caused the day before.

"Why didn't you get Tessai to heal it for you?" Ichigo couldn't resist asking even as guilt gnawed on his nerves.

Urahara chuckled. "I wanted to leave it," he said, giving Ichigo a meaningful look. "To remind myself to think before I speak."

"Oh." Ichigo looked down at his cup and ran his fingers along the rim. He hesitated for just a few seconds longer, then, in a soft but firm voice, he apologized.

"What was that?" The blonde raised a palm behind his ear. "Do you mind saying it again?"

Ichigo scowled.  _Yeah, remind yourself to think before you speak, my ass_.

The shopkeeper laughed at the boy's reaction, but after a while, his face turned serious. "No, really, I was...less sensitive than I should have been," he said solemnly. "I can't say that I understand your feelings, but I have some idea. I could've used better judgement yesterday, and for that I apologize."

Ichigo straightened his back with a startled look. "No, I..." His face turned pink at the idea of having the guy he punched apologizing to him.

"Then I guess we're even," Urahara interrupted with a good-natured smile. His voice softened, and he regarded the boy with a sense of tenderness that Ichigo had never seen before. "How have you been?"

The teen gave a noncommittal shrug and averted his eyes. He'd heard that question so many times in the past year and a half that he had given up on trying to answer it. He didn't even know what people expected to hear anymore.

"That's a good enough answer," the shopkeeper said gently. "I appreciate your honesty."

Ichigo froze. Now  _that_  was one response that he wasn't expecting to hear, but it was one that flooded his chest with warmth. To his horror, he felt his throat constrict and his nose tingled, both symptoms he was familiar with—he had cried enough for his mother to recognize that these would be followed by tears. But before his eyes began to sting, he caught a fleeting grimace on the older man's face. It was gone in a heartbeat, but Ichigo immediately felt a stab of guilt—no doubt the cut was bothering the man.

"Is it okay if I take a look?" Ichigo pointed at Urahara's lip.

The blonde looked surprised at the request, but he scooted closer anyway. Ichigo met him halfway around the table. Up close, the wound looked even uglier than he thought. The edges of the cut were sharp—a sign of how hard Ichigo had hit the man; the flesh had been driven right into the edge of a tooth, most likely the canine.

"I'm sorry," Ichigo said softly. Wracked by another wave of guilt, he raised a trembling hand to the wounded lip and gingerly traced the tip of a finger over the raw skin.

The shopkeeper flinched, more in surprise than pain, but he kept quiet. His eyes were riveted on the young face in front of his—there was a faraway, almost dreamy look in the boy's chocolate-brown eyes, and it sent a chill down his spine.

"You're the only one who was okay with me not answering your question," Ichigo murmured, still transfixed on the wound. The longer he stared at it, the worse it seemed to look. His fists clenched unconsciously, and he felt a jolt of anger—at himself.

He must've totally lost it for him to lash out like this on a man who was, for the most part, his mentor and friend, and quite possibly his only tangible connection to his previous life. This man had seen his growth literally from the beginning till the end; he was there when Ichigo attained his power and he was there when he lost it.

Urahara sat rooted in place, not sure what he should make of this new development of the teen's mood. Truth be told, it worried him. The boy almost seemed like he was in a trance-like state, and he didn't want to startle him.

"You're the only one who  _would_  understand," Ichigo said, his voice barely a whisper.

The shopkeeper caught the undercurrent of loneliness in the boy's tone and his worry raised a notch. Isshin had mentioned nothing about his son being depressed the last time they spoke. Then again, he should've known; the boy wasn't the most forthcoming when it came to his own well being.

"Kurosa—" Urahara's eyes widened just a fraction before his lips were suddenly sealed.

Ichigo felt the rough skin beneath his own lips, and instinctively, his tongue slid out to touch the hot, inflamed skin around the edges of the cut, tasting a faint coppery tinge of blood. His mouth moved in a gentle caress, more of a silent apology than an actual kiss. When the older man's lips were finally moist, he pulled away.

The blonde stared at the boy, stunned. He was not one to be caught unprepared easily, but he had to admit, he had not seen this coming.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

Ichigo stared at the floor, not quite understanding his own actions as well. But that had felt good; he hadn't felt such closeness to anyone for a while. "I don't know," he admitted truthfully.

Urahara looked at the boy; he seemed suddenly so young, so unlike the young man who stood his ground before Aizen Sousuke. Perhaps they had all forgotten that beneath all that strength and power lay a teenager who had been forced to grow up too fast. The boy may have grown much taller in the past year and a half, but there was no doubt a big part of him still clung to the memories of his fifteen-year-old self. If Urahara hadn't known before, he knew now.

"I don't know," Ichigo repeated, drawing his knees into his chest and wrapping his arms around his bent legs. "I just felt like...felt like I needed to do it." Now that the moment had passed, he was afraid to know what Urahara might think. First a punch, now a kiss; the man probably thought he was nuts. His head sank dejectedly between his knees.

"I can't talk to them about it," he mumbled, not really caring if the former captain was listening. "They ask me everyday if I'm okay, and I don't know what to say anymore. If I answer that I'm not okay, they  _try_ to help, but they can't. If I answer that I'm okay, they know that I'm lying."

Urahara looked at Ichigo, shocked by the sadness that saturated the boyish voice. He slid up next to the boy and mimicked his position, hoping that his presence could offer some comfort.

Ichigo's head remained bowed, and for a moment he looked as if he could be asleep. Then, soft sniffles began to drift out between the tightly-held knees.

Urahara looked stricken. He had seen the boy bleed from wounds much worse than what he'd seen in his lifetime and not flinch, but had never expected to see him cry. How much did he keep bottled up in that young chest? Tentatively, the blonde reached out and draped an arm over Ichigo's shoulders.

As though he was butter and Urahara's arm was the blade of a hot butter knife, Ichigo melted into the embrace and leaned heavily against the older man. The tremor in the boy's body pained the former captain, and he instinctively curled his arm protectively around the trembling shoulders.

Ichigo never thought he would find comfort in Urahara, of all people, but now he felt a sense of connection that was beginning to tear the shell that he had built so carefully around his heart, and he suddenly realized that it should've been clear that his mentor was the one he should've turned to all along.

Twisting his body in Urahara's arms, Ichigo angled his face upwards to catch the older man's eyes. He saw no pity in those grey eyes, just a sincere offer of support. He felt another rush of warmth spread in his chest, and he brought his head up to be closer to the blonde's face. He saw a flicker of uncertainty in the man's eyes.

"I need this," he whispered, hoping desperately that he won't be turned away.

"Kurosaki-kun..." Urahara said, his throat suddenly tight. He knew he shouldn't do this; the boy was in no state to deal with a complicated situation, and if this were to go on further, they  _would_  be in a complicated situation. But he couldn't tear his gaze away from the pleading eyes—the silent call for help had him in a trap. And he knew at once, as the boy's face came nearer and nearer toward his, that this was a trap from which he could not escape.

A low, grateful moan escaped from the depths of Ichigo's throat as his lips brushed against the blonde's once more. He ran his tongue gently over the cut before pulling back just long enough to say, "Ichigo." Then, his eyes slid closed and he parted his lips for Urahara.

Urahara's arm slid from the boy's shoulders down to the small of his back, and he pulled the boy closer. Ignoring the sting from his wounded lip, he tipped his head to the side and slid his tongue slowly into the awaiting mouth and explored it, searching for its partner. When he found it, he reached out in an invitation to dance, and their tongues entwined; hesitantly at first, then, as he felt Ichigo's hand rake through his light blond hair, he parted his lips wider and guided the boy's tongue into his mouth.

Ichigo groaned as the older man began to suck gently on his tongue, and he pushed further into the comforting heat, drawing a growl from the man. The boy's plea burned fiercely every time their tongues curled around each other, and Urahara felt himself edging closer towards the point of no return.

If they didn't stop now, they would  _both_  be trapped.

But when he felt Ichigo's palm slide inside his shirt, all rational thoughts left him, and Urahara realized that it was already too late.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

Ichigo grunted as his back hit the wall. Several boxes from the shelf next to him fell to the floor, but neither men paid attention even as the contents scattered around their feet. Urahara's lips brushed against the shell of his ear, and then he heard the man say breathlessly, "We shouldn't be doing this."

Tilting his head back to give the blonde better access, Ichigo replied with a murmured "mm hmm" and coiled his fingers under the man's collar. He tugged, trying to get the top off of Urahara's shoulder, but Urahara had his arm tightly wrapped around Ichigo's waist and he was blocked. Ichigo had to tug a few more times before the blonde finally got the message. Urahara withdrew his arm reluctantly, and then, after a series of clumsy, uncoordinated tugging and pulling, one side of his robe swung free, joining the sash that had been untied a while ago. A few seconds later, the other side side of his robe was peeled from his body in a similar fashion, and the garment fluttered down to the floor to join the fallen merchandise.

"We need to stop," Urahara panted, but at that exact moment Ichigo's hand found his nipple, and all thoughts of stopping flew out the window. Moaning into the boy's neck, he slipped his hand under Ichigo's t-shirt from below. The shirt was tight, though, and it trapped his arm in an awkward position. With a low growl, he grabbed the hem and pulled it up, exposing the toned abdomen underneath.

Panting heavily, Ichigo drew his hands away from Urahara's body and raised his arms above his head, allowing the man to remove his t-shirt. Urahara grunted in frustration as the t-shirt kept getting stuck along the way, but after a few more urgent tugs, it came off and was flung carelessly to a corner of the room. Ichigo's hair became a wild ruffled mess from the struggle with his top, and Urahara couldn't resist digging his fingers into the orange strands to pull the boy's face closer.

Crushing their mouths together, the blonde slid his tongue easily between Ichigo's lips. Ichigo responded immediately; reaching out with his tongue, he coaxed Urahara deeper into his mouth, then, tentatively, he let his teeth graze the blonde's tongue. The almost-shy experiment ripped a raspy groan from the older man; and the battle for dominance began.

They nipped each other's lips, pinching the fragile tissue but never hard enough to draw blood. It was thrilling to walk on the fine line between pain and pleasure; they teased one another, slowly learning how far they could go without inflicting pain.

When they finally broke the kiss, Urahara's head fell forward and rested on Ichigo's forehead while he struggled to get his ragged breaths under control. It was a lost cause, because the boy proceeded to thrust his hips into the blonde's, kicking his already racing pulse a notch higher. The rough material of Ichigo's jeans rubbed against Urahara's straining arousal, wringing a moan from the older man.

Swearing under his breath, Urahara reached down with one hand and made quick work of Ichigo's belt, but he couldn't get past the button and zip single-handedly. Hissing in impatience, he withdrew the hand that was entangled in the boy's hair and renewed his effort with both hands. To his chagrin, even after those were undone, Ichigo's jeans were so tight that he couldn't get it off without the boy's help.

Ichigo laughed at the man's frustration as he wiggled out of his pants. In response, Urahara wrapped his hand over the prominent bulge in the boy's underwear and  _squeezed_. A noise—a mixture of a yelp and a moan escaped from Ichigo's lips; he had never had anyone touch him there before, and Urahara's hand was large, warm, and  _moving_  in such a delicious manner. The amount of pressure was just right, the pace perfect, and Ichigo felt his knees becoming weak.

"Kisuke," Ichigo moaned, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy.

The blonde's breath hitched in his throat; the boy's lust-filled voice was thicker, lower than it normally was, and it dripped with need. He leaned in and took Ichigo's mouth roughly, and at the same time, began to move his hand up and down, stroking the teen through the thin layer of fabric. He felt Ichigo let out a shaky breath against his lips as he trembled under his touch.

"S-shit," Ichigo groaned, feeling the tension in his belly build at an alarming rate. He recognized the sign and realized that he was going to peak soon. "Stop," he whispered, letting his forehead fall against Urahara's shoulder. "I'm gonna—"

A low "mmm" was the only response he got before the blonde suddenly increased his pace. With a sinking heart, Ichigo felt himself twitch once, twice, and then it was too late—the rush of pleasure hit him, and all the tension in his body spilled into his underwear. His cry came out choked, as though he wanted to swallow it but could not.

Urahara felt the sudden rush of dampness under his palm and knew that Ichigo had climaxed. He had heard the boy's plea to stop, but couldn't resist pushing him over the edge. It was selfish, he knew, but he wanted to see Ichigo become undone. But now as he looked at the boy's face, he wished he had stopped—Ichigo looked horrified, his face a bright pink and his eyes wide with disbelief and dismay.

"I-I'm sorry," Ichigo muttered, feeling useless. He couldn't believe he had come so fast, Urahara didn't even look like he was halfway there yet. The hand at his crotch went away, then he was suddenly crushed in an embrace, and he felt the blonde's lips against his forehead.

"Shhh," Urahara murmured, stroking the boy's back soothingly.

Ichigo squirmed in the older man's arms. "Don't  _shhh_  me," he grumbled, his face feeling impossibly hot from embarrassment. He had heard that guys who were young and inexperienced tended to not last very long, but this was ridiculous. "I'll still finish you, you know."

The blonde blinked, and then pulled away to look at the boy in amusement. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not going to hang you out to dry like this," Ichigo said with a serious face.

Urahara looked as if he was struggling to swallow his laughter, but before he could reply, Ichigo attacked him with fervor. Cupping the older man's face with both hands, Ichigo pulled him in for a kiss. And then, before the blonde could recover from his surprise, Ichigo flipped around and pressed him into the wall, switching their positions.

"Where's your bedroom?" Ichigo asked, his breath becoming ragged again.

Urahara's eyes flicked to the left, and Ichigo immediately pulled him by the wrist towards that direction. Spurred by the boy's enthusiasm and his own need, Urahara only hesitated for a second before letting Ichigo lead the way.

Ichigo was surprised to find the shopkeeper's room quite sparsely decorated, but that just meant that there were fewer obstacles between the door and the bed. Eager to make up for his own untimely climax, Ichigo practically shoved the man onto his bed, then he climbed in after him and straddled the man's hips.

Then, with equal eagerness, he lifted himself up on his knees and began to tug at Urahara's pants. The sight of Ichigo panting over him with his reddened lips slightly apart sent blood rushing to the blonde's head, and in a dazed, almost drunken state, he raised his hips to let his pants and boxers slide down his thighs.

"Wow," Ichigo blurted out when the older man's arousal finally sprang free, suddenly feeling very small himself. But after a few seconds of staring, he started to pull his own underwear off, wrinkling his nose slightly at the stickiness of the garment. He flung their pants carelessly onto the floor, and then he moved up and started to align himself with Urahara, looking as though he was going to lower himself onto it as soon as he got the position right.

The blonde felt his tip nudge Ichigo lightly, and he snapped out of his stupor. "Wait, what are you doing?" he asked, incredulous.

Ichigo scowled. "What does it look like I'm doing?" He had a look of determination on his face, and for a moment Urahara was reminded of their training sessions in the past.

Amused, he began to chuckle. "You haven't done this before, have you?" When the boy blushed deeply, Urahara stopped laughing; hesitation once again creeped into his consciousness. "Are you sure you want this? With me?"

Instead of replying, Ichigo simply bent over and sealed the older man's lips, silencing any further questions. The feeling of the boy's overheated bare skin against his own made Urahara moan into Ichigo's mouth—the boy was already getting hard again.

"If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right," Urahara whispered, then, holding Ichigo's wrists, he guided the boy to flip over onto his back while he got on top.

Ichigo's heart began to pound in his chest as he watched the blonde reach over his head to retrieve something. There was the sound of things being pushed around, then Urahara reappeared in his view, holding a tiny bottle. Wordlessly, the man flipped the cap open and squeezed out a generous amount on his palm.

Eyes wide in a mixture of fascination, anticipation, and—much as he wanted to deny it—nervousness, Ichigo stared intently as the blonde spread the lotion on his palm and fingers. Now that he had calmed down and thought about it, this made sense. Thinking back to his own impulsiveness earlier, Ichigo felt his face burn, but he didn't get the time to simmer in his embarrassment for long.

"This might feel a little strange at first, okay?" Urahara said softly. When the boy nodded, he leaned down and brushed his forehead on Ichigo's in a reassuring way, and then his finger slid in.

Ichigo jumped slightly with surprise; it wasn't painful nor especially unpleasant, but it felt strange nonetheless. He felt the finger slide in and out a few more times, and then the next time it came back, it didn't return alone. Ichigo frowned slightly as his body worked to accommodate the second finger.

"Are you okay?" Urahara stilled and looked at the squirming figure beneath him.

Ichigo flashed him a look that could pass as a glare if not for his flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. "Don't stop," he said, breathing heavily through his teeth. But alas, the commanding tone was dampened by the tremor in his voice.

The blonde looked at the rapid rising and falling of the boy's chest and saw right through the brave front. Smiling in amusement, he slid a little farther down so that his head hovered above Ichigo's hips.

"What—" Ichigo never had the chance to finish his question because right at that moment Urahara decided to duck down between his legs and take him in the mouth. His hips bucked involuntarily, and Urahara had to hold him down to avoid getting choked.

Ichigo could not believe the amount of sensory overload he was getting within such a short period of time. The blonde's mouth felt so warm it was almost blindingly hot against his sensitive flesh, and it was  _moving_  in such an evil, evil way.

The blonde wished he could laugh out loud at the boy's reaction; Ichigo's head was tilted back, his damp hair buried into the pillows, and he kept alternating between biting his lip and gasping, as though he wasn't sure which one helped more. The muscles of the flat, lean torso strained under Urahara's hand as his mouth continued to slide up and down the boy's length, Then, when he saw Ichigo's fists clutch the sheets, he finally deemed the boy distracted enough, and inserted the third finger.

Ichigo's toes curled on their own accord as he struggled to process the pleasure from Urahara's mouth and the ache from the man's fingers. It was that fine line again, that dangerous cocktail of pleasure and pain that made Ichigo's body confused and happy at the same time. The cries tumbling from his lips began to resemble sobs more than moans as he writhed on the bed.

He was almost certain he was going to climax before the blonde again when Urahara suddenly released him with a soft, moist "pop".

"K-kis-suke..." Ichigo panted, reaching out to touch his lover. Their fingers entwined, and Ichigo pulled the man towards him, sharing a brief kiss before the blonde nudged Ichigo's thighs apart.

The last shreds of uncertainty in Urahara's mind had long since been shoved to some unreachable depths in his consciousness; no longer was he thinking about the fact that Ichigo was his friend's son, or the fact that Ichigo was  _much_  younger than he was, or that the boy was emotionally vulnerable now. There were so many reasons that would've held him back if he weren't drunk in the throes of passion, but none occurred to him now.

With a firm but gentle thrust of his hips, he slid into Ichigo and truly became hopelessly, thoroughly lost. The heat in that tight, velvety passage was overwhelming; the highly-strung tension in his body finally found an outlet, and he began to move, wringing cries after cries from the body beneath him. He wasn't rough, but everything about their rhythm was urgent, both racing to reach the edge that had been calling to them since seemingly forever.

The bed creaked in time with their bodies as Ichigo raised his hips to meet every thrust, his fingers clawing at Urahara's back, leaving trails of pink on the otherwise flawless skin. Ichigo may not have done this before, but there was nothing awkward about his movements, his battle-trained body graceful even in bed. He simply followed Urahara's lead, letting the more experienced man carry him away to the end that he knew would arrive very, very soon.

"Come with me," the blonde whispered suddenly, his thrusts becoming more and more erratic. Without waiting for a response, he reached between them and wrapped his hand around Ichigo.

Ichigo's back arched off the bed as the gentle command and touch pushed him over, and he shuddered almost violently, spilling himself over Urahara's fist and their stomachs.

The blonde managed a handful more thrusts before letting himself go with a choked cry. His head fell forward as he pulsed within the crushing tightness, and then with a groan, he collapsed onto the heaving chest below him.

Ichigo continued to pant under his lover's weight, unable to come down fully from his high because Urahara was still inside. But after awhile, it became difficult to breathe, and he nudged the older man to the side.

They lay side-by-side as their breathing gradually slowed, neither having the energy to speak.

Finally, after a long stretch of silence, Ichigo turned to Urahara and said hoarsely, "That was really something."

Urahara nodded and looked at the young man; it was definitely something, but as the rush of pleasure tapered off, a terrible sense of guilt and horror began to settle in his gut. But the boy looked so contented—happy, even—that he couldn't help but smile.

"I'm glad you liked it," he said, stretching his tired limbs.

"Did you?" Ichigo asked, suddenly worried. The older man's smile did not quite reach his eyes, he noticed.

Urahara chuckled. "Of course I did."

Ichigo looked at him, not sure if he should believe the man or not. "Enough to do it again?" he asked carefully.

The blonde hesitated. Of course it was, but it didn't mean he  _should_  do it again. In fact, it was the complete opposite. But he couldn't say that, not when the boy was looking at him like that. So, despite his trepidation, he slid an arm under Ichigo's neck and pulled him close.

Ichigo remained tense for a while, even when Urahara rested his chin on the top of Ichigo's head and held him tightly. Then, slowly, he allowed himself to relax against the older man's chest. The man's body heat was comforting, and so was the strong, steady beating of his heart.

Ichigo wasn't sure what Urahara's silence meant, but his eyes were gradually getting heavier, his body drained of energy. He wanted to ask Urahara again, but his eyelids defied him, and he drifted off.

The blonde felt the boy's breathing even out into a slow rhythm and guessed that he had fallen asleep, and as he listened to the light inhalation and exhalation of breath, his own eyes began to slide closed.

They can talk about this later, he decided. And then he, too, let sleep claim him.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	5. Chapter 5

Urahara blinked as he gradually swam back into consciousness. His body  _ached_. For a while he was confused; what the hell could he have done to be so sore? His arms, especially, felt tired to the bones. Then, with a sudden jolt, he remembered what happened and sat up on the bed with a groan.

Ichigo wasn't next to him—where the boy was last before they fell asleep. He was surprised to feel a stab of disappointment along with a stab of something else; something much more complex. His brows knitted as he tried to sort out his jumbled thoughts, and he kneaded his temples, already feel the beginnings of what promised to be an epic headache.

So the boy had left while he was asleep. He wasn't sure what to make of that; he thought it had gone relatively well, other issues aside. He'd even felt a connection—for a lack of a better term—when he held Ichigo against his body, when they kissed, and especially during their most intimate moments.

It had been a long time since Urahara Kisuke felt so troubled, and that in itself troubled him.

Just as he was going to swing his legs over the side of the bed, he heard muffled sounds of the hair dryer being used. His eyebrows arched even though there was no one there to see it. So Ichigo  _hadn't_  left.

Urahara waited, sitting on the edge of his bed, and tried his best to lay out his thoughts.  _Wonderful, just fucking wonderful._  He had just slept with the son of one of his oldest friend, and had enjoyed every second of it. He wished he could feel more disgusted by it, but he didn't, and that scared him.

But he did feel guilty; not so much because the boy was young, or that he was his friend's child, but from the fact that he had known that the boy was emotional when it happened. Who knew what Ichigo was thinking now? For all he knew, the teenager could be regretting it right this moment. Somehow that thought pained him, and his hand went to his temples again.

The hair dryer was turned off, and for a second Urahara dreaded what he would find when that door opened. He didn't have to wait for long to find out.

Ichigo stepped out of the restroom, his hair a sorry sight from his failed attempt at combing it with his fingers. His face was flushed—different from the type of flush that Urahara saw a few hours ago—from the hot shower, and he was wearing the t-shirt that he had arrived in. His jeans—that unbelievably tight contraption—was up to his hips, but the button and zipper were not done up.

"Hey, you're awake," Ichigo said, sounding surprised.

Urahara smiled. "Yes, I tend to do that sometimes," he said dryly. Inwardly he was glad to see that the boy was not upset; it was a good first step.

Ichigo flashed him a scowl. "I couldn't wake you up just now," he huffed. "Believe me, I tried." A grin appeared on his face. "I guess I wore you out."

The blonde grimaced. He supposed he did; Ichigo didn't seem any worse for wear. He gave the boy a quick once-over; for someone who arrived on the verge of depression, he seemed surprisingly upbeat. Was it because of what they did?

"Did you go out to get your clothes?" Urahara asked. He hoped that Tessai and the kids weren't back yet; they usually go out for chores most of Saturday, which was why he hadn't been particularly careful during their activities in the living room. He had no idea how long they'd been asleep, but he hoped it hadn't been too long. It would be rather awkward to have to explain to them why most of Ichigo's clothes and  _his_ top were on the living room floor.

Ichigo walked across the room and threw a folded green garment over to the blonde. "No, I  _was_  on the way to get it, though, but I found them in a stack outside your door."

Urahara groaned inside, but he didn't say anything. Ichigo didn't seem to have noticed his expression, though; the boy was concentrating on getting his pants done and buckling his belt. Much as he didn't want to ruin the mood, he knew they needed to talk.

"Ichigo..." he began.

The teenager looked up, having finally finished putting his clothes together.

Urahara's voice died in his throat when he looked into those bright brown eyes. Ichigo looked so much better now compared to when he'd broken down just now, and Urahara loathed to put a frown on that face.

"What?" Ichigo asked, raising an eyebrow inquiringly as he walked toward the older man. "I need to head back now, I'm already late for dinner. Yuzu's going to wonder where I am."

The blonde sighed inwardly. Now wasn't the right time, then. This was one conversation that could not and should not be rushed. "Nothing," he said finally. "It can wait."

Ichigo shrugged. For a few seconds they just stared at each other, each trying to guess what the other was thinking. Then, to Urahara's surprise, the boy pulled him into a quick hug.

"Thanks," Ichigo said gruffly, sounding a little embarrassed.

Then, before Urahara could respond, the boy turned around and left.

As soon as the door clicked closed, Urahara buried his face into his palms and rubbed his face. He suddenly felt tired. Why did he always get himself into complicated situations?

But then the image of Ichigo's grin flashed in his mind, and he found himself thinking that perhaps it's worth it.

Tessai and Ururu were in the kitchen when he went there to get himself a drink. He met Tessai's eyes, and even though his old friend didn't say anything, Urahara found it difficult to maintain eye contact.

"What's for dinner?" he asked casually.

Tessai remained silent for a few seconds before answering. "Chicken curry." He didn't sound upset; he was just talking in his usual quiet manner.

"Ah, perfect. I'm in the mood for curry," Urahara said in a cheerful voice, which he hoped could pass as normal. But he knew he couldn't possibly fool his friend—they'd known each other for far too long.

Ururu didn't detect his mood, though. "Great! It should be ready in half an hour," the girl said, smiling at him fondly.

The blonde stood around until he finished his drink and decided that he should leave before he crumbled under the weight hanging over his head. As he walked out of the kitchen, he could feel his friend's gaze boring into his back. He didn't have to ask to know what Tessai thought of his actions—it was obvious enough.

* * *

As it turned out, Yuzu had insisted that everyone needed to wait until her precious Ichi-nii returned before they could start dinner, which was why Ichigo was met with two very long faces when he sat down at the dining table. His father wore a dramatically sad expression of a starving man, while Karin simply glowered at him.

"Thanks, Yuzu, this is great." Ichigo ruffled his sister's blond hair. Yuzu beamed up at him.

It was amazing how much she loved him, it was mind boggling. Ichigo couldn't understand what he had done to deserve such affection; he was fiercely protective of his sisters, which, he supposed, could be counted as a display of brotherly love, but honestly, he didn't feel like that he had done nearly enough to deserve so much, and for that he was thankful everyday. If not for Yuzu and Karin, his life would be a much, much bigger shithole that it was now.

That line of thought brought him to what just happened that day—yet another thing that he had not expected. From sneaky bastard to lover, his perception of Urahara Kisuke had certainly fluctuated much greater than he'd like over two short days.

Occupied by the thoughts of the blonde, Ichigo became silent throughout the rest of dinner. But since he was never terribly talkative in the first place, he was fortunate enough to not draw any additional attention to himself.

Once he was safely in the privacy of his own room, he sat down on the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he had slept with his mentor, of all people on the planet. It wasn't a matter of physical attraction or dysfunctional teenage hormones—at least he didn't think it was. He had felt an intense pull, a  _connection_  when they kissed, and even more so when they eventually went all the way. Yet, he didn't understand why he had kissed the man to begin with.

Perhaps it was the fact that the man had let him take out his rage on him without complaint, even when Ichigo shouldn't have. Maybe it was how the man looked after his sister, or that he was the only one who quietly accepted that Ichigo was  _not_ okay and did not push him to heal. Ichigo was sick and tired of being told that he would be okay, sick and tired of people treating him like glass.

Whatever it was, he now realized how important a role Urahara played in his life—the man had been a constant presence, a rock in his otherwise turbulent life. He couldn't believe he had never seen it before.

But what did the man's silence mean? Ichigo wasn't stupid; he knew things wouldn't be simple. Urahara wasn't your typical lover. Heck, Ichigo had no idea how old the blonde was, or the man's history. But at this point, he really didn't care about all that.

Still, it didn't stop him from feeling stupid. He had literally pounced on the guy. Urahara had been willing enough, even though he was hesitant at first. And it was so good, so mind-blowingly amazing—Ichigo hadn't ever felt such intense pleasure before.

And he was already craving for more.

He didn't know if it was healthy, but just the thought of Urahara's hand on him sent a chill through his body. And the feeling of him sliding inside...Ichigo shivered and bit his lip to refrain from moaning out loud.

For once, he didn't mull over his loneliness as he went to bed that night, or the emptiness that had been plaguing him ever since he parted ways with his old life. He didn't know what this meant, whether it's good or bad that Urahara made him feel this way.

Either way, he knew that they needed to talk. As he began to feel drowsy under his comfortable covers, he allowed himself a small smile.

* * *

Urahara wasn't surprised to find the boy on his doorstep again the next day. He was glad, in fact, because he'd been up all night thinking about them—about what they'd done, the things they needed to sort out, feelings that may have to be broken.

Ichigo's greeting was just a little bit less surly than usual, his cheeks a little pink, but otherwise he looked normal.

"Tea?" Urahara offered as they stepped into the living room.

"Sure," Ichigo said with a shrug and followed the blonde into the small kitchen.

As though there were some unspoken understanding, they automatically walked towards Urahara's room after that, tea cups in hand.

It wasn't until they finally settled down on the floor in the middle of the room that they truly  _looked_  at each other. Ichigo noticed with a start how tired the older man seemed. His eyes, though still bright, was a little puffy, the lines around them slightly more prominent.

"Are you okay?" Ichigo asked. The man's hand was barely a foot away from his own, but he made no attempt to reach out to touch it. Somehow that just didn't seem right, not before they talked.

Urahara took a sip from his cup and rubbed his face. "Yeah," he said with a rueful smile. "This is what happens when you get old—you miss a few hours of sleep and everything shows."

Ichigo looked down at and pretended to stare at his fingers. So Urahara didn't sleep well last night. That wasn't a good sign, since Ichigo had slept exceptionally well. It hadn't been five minutes into their conversation and they were already  _not_  on the same page.

He waited a bit to see how Urahara would begin  _the talk_ , as he had come to think of it. But the man just swirled the mouthful of tea around in his mouth like it's some sort of expensive wine.

Oh hell. Ichigo decided that he couldn't just sit still and wait, his nerves were getting too highly-strung as silence wore on.

"Listen, about yesterday," he began, forcing himself to look at Urahara. "I—"

"I'm sorry," Urahara interrupted softly. He met Ichigo's eyes and winced when those brown eyes blinked in confusion. "About yesterday, I'm really sorry."

"For what?" Ichigo asked. Of all things, he wasn't expecting to hear an apology.

Urahara looked as though he dreaded what he was going to say, and suddenly, Ichigo didn't want the man to speak anymore. But he bit his tongue and listened.

"I realize you were upset yesterday," the blonde continued, his voice low but steady. "I shouldn't have taken advantage of that."

Ichigo's mouth fell open in disbelief. "You're kidding me," he thought out loud. After a pause, he said again, "You're  _fucking_  kidding me."

Urahara started to explain, but Ichigo no longer wanted to hear what he had to say. It was going to be same bullshit—you're too young, you weren't in control, he could see those coming. It hurt, it really did, especially when he had been so sure that Urahara understood him.

Before he truly knew what he was doing, he had knocked the blonde over. He pinned the man down on the floor by the shoulders with his knees set firmly on his sides, and glared at him.

"Kurosaki-kun..." Urahara reached up to grab the boy's wrists to push him away, but the boy bore down with all his weight and strength. He could've easily shaken the boy off if he wanted to, but he didn't like any of the possible outcomes of that.

"I'm not some  _kid_ , okay?" Ichigo growled, his fingers involuntarily curling around the man's shoulders, digging painfully into the skin. "I knew what I was doing, and I wanted it!"

Urahara stared up into the red-faced boy hovering above him. He wished he could say that as well, because heaven knows he wanted it too.

"Your father..." he began.

Ichigo cut him off by rudely crushing their lips together. He felt the blonde freeze and a rush of indignation crashed over him. It was so unfair. What happened to the man he thought he knew yesterday?

"Tell me, honestly," he said, looking into the pair of grey eyes below. "Did you like it? Do you want it?"

Urahara sighed. "Yes, but that doesn't mean that I should," he said wistfully. "Things are a bit more complicated than that, Kurosaki-kun."

"This doesn't have to be," Ichigo said, his breath becoming heavier from frustration. "This is between the two of us.  _You. Me._  I don't give a fuck what other people think."

If only things were so simple, Urahara wanted to say. But his thoughts wilted when he felt Ichigo's breath on his face again. This time, the boy licked his lips almost tenderly, their noses brushing lightly against each other. He felt the roaming tongue linger on his healing cut, and then the full weight of Ichigo's lips pressed against his as the boy angled his head. He felt his logical mind struggle, but it had gotten weak under Ichigo's assault, and worse, under his own desire. As the hot, moist lips caressed him, gently coaxing him to respond, he caved.

Ichigo's breath quickened when he felt the blonde's hand travel up his back and finally came to the nape of his neck. The big, calloused palm cupped the back of his head, and he felt himself being pulled closer to the body beneath him. Another hand ran up his arm and gently traced his jawline. The touches emboldened him, and he delved deeper into the blonde's mouth, wringing a soft growl from the man.

Remembering how good it had felt when Urahara kissed his neck, he pulled away from the man's mouth and bent down to brush his lips lightly along his neck. Urahara felt a shiver run through his limbs, and at that point, they both knew that the discussion was over.

* * *

When he walked into the living room and met Tessai's eyes, Urahara knew at once that his friend wasn't going to remain silent this time. Ichigo had left an hour ago, and Tessai had seen him leave. He saw the man's gaze flick briefly to his neck, where Ichigo had left a handful of light markings.

"Kisuke-san." Tessai's deep voice was not accusatory, merely concerned about the fine line that his old friend was walking.

"I know," he replied. Now that he had made peace with his decision, he no longer had trouble looking directly at his friend.

Tessai sighed softly. "Be careful," was all he said before he gave the blonde a meaningful look.

Urahara nodded. "I know," he repeated with a grateful smile. Yes, he had many reasons to be cautious, of that he had no illusions.

* * *

Monday came too quickly, and it almost seemed like classes would never end. When it finally did, Ichigo packed up his bag as usual and headed for the door.

"Wait up!" A voice stopped him from behind, and Ichigo turned around to find his friend Keigo jogging up to him.

Keigo and Mizuiro were two friends whom he didn't mind hanging out with. They saw what happened in the end, but they hadn't been  _there_ , they didn't see many of the things that Inoue, Ishida, and the rest saw. Ironically, that made them less inclined to treat him like he was a fragile piece of glass. He almost felt normal around them.  _Almost_.

"There's a buy-two-get-one-free deal at the ramen place we like, do you want to be the third?" Mizuiro piped up, pulling up next to Keigo.

Ichigo hesitated, but then he saw the expectant smiles on his friends' faces, and his shoulders relaxed. "Sure, why not?"

The street was packed full of the after-school crowd, and the three of them navigated through the throngs of people with familiar ease. They were just one block shy of the ramen restaurant when a shout rang out from somewhere behind them. Instinctively, they turned, along with pretty much everyone else around them.

"Thief! Somebody snatched my bag!" A man's voice called urgently, and then the crowd parted suddenly, revealing a mousy, frantic-looking young man running clumsily away from a slightly older man.

"Amateur," Ichigo growled. Mizuiro and Keigo looked at each other; they knew what this meant.

With a flash of movement, Ichigo lunged after the thief. People staggered backwards, making way for him. It was so easy he almost laughed. One simple kick sent the man sprawling on the ground, and the bag he stole skidded away from him, rolling a good three feet away before finally stopping at the foot of its owner, who had just caught up with them.

Once the thief was hauled away, the man introduced himself as Kugo Ginjo and thanked Ichigo profusely. He was a tall, well-built man, with shoulder-length black hair that looked like it was slicked back using an entire jar of hair gel. His palm was big and rough, Ichigo noted, and he shook hands like a bear, crushing Ichigo's slimmer hand in his. For a moment, Ichigo wondered how that scrawny young man managed to outrun this guy.

He offered to treat them to ramen, but Ichigo declined. This was nothing, and to make a big deal out of it seemed almost insulting to everything else that he'd done. But of course this man couldn't have known, so Ichigo kept his face neutral even though he was beginning to feel impatient after having to decline for the third time.

When he was finally able to excuse himself without sounding too much like an asshole, he turned to catch up with Keigo and Mizuiro, who were waiting for him further up the street. Right as he turned his back, he heard a low voice say, "Don't you wish you could save everyone the way you just saved me?"

Feeling as though he'd been slapped in the face, Ichigo spun around, shocked to hear his deepest wish coming from a complete stranger. That was Kugo Ginjo's voice, there was no mistaking it. Ichigo's eyes searched the crowd around him and found nothing.

The man was gone.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	6. Chapter 6

" _Don't you wish you could save everyone the way you just saved me?_ "

Ichigo could not get Kugo Ginjo's voice out of his head. That meant more than twenty four hours of listening to his deepest, impossible wish in his head, over and over again. If it went on like that, he wasn't sure how long he would last before he snapped.

Of course he wished that he could. If such things like Santa Claus or the magic lamp existed, that would've been his one wish. Ideally that meant getting his shinigami powers back, but, really, he didn't care what it was as long as he regained the ability to protect the people he loved the way he could before. He had the strength, the will, and the passion; the only thing missing was a way to use those.

And so he sat in class, completely oblivious of the increasingly fierce glares from his teacher, and mulled over the stranger's words.

What a strange, strange man. The more he thought about it, the more certain he felt that this encounter with Kugo was not a coincidence. The man had  _wanted_  to meet him; whether it was just to observe him or simply to pass him that message, Ichigo had no idea.

He had briefly entertained the thought of telling Urahara about it right after it happened, but at the last minute, he abandoned the idea. Just because he was now seeing the man didn't mean he had to run to him every time he had something on his mind.

 _Seeing_  the man...now that's something he still needed to wrap his head around. He didn't know how else to describe their "relationship". He didn't think they could be counted as partners, or boyfriends, or whatever regular term humans used to describe two people who were together exclusively.

Lovers? Definitely. Urahara was an amazing lover, that much he knew, even if he had nobody else to compare him to, because he could not imagine experiencing pleasure greater than what Urahara gave him. Besides, was the man even  _capable_  of being in a normal relationship?

But this didn't matter. Urahara didn't talk about it, and Ichigo didn't feel like asking. For now, he was contented with what they had. Urahara cared for him, and that was enough.

Ichigo didn't realize that school was over until he was interrupted by the sounds of chairs scraping the floor and his classmates chatting as they headed for the door. He walked home slowly, distracted and—much to his chagrin—curious about this Kugo character, so much so that he nearly ran into Yuzu on the road. From the exasperated look on her face, she had probably been calling out to him for a while before he noticed her.

"Where are you going?" Ichigo asked, feeling a little sheepish.

Yuzu's cheerful smile returned now that her brother had seen her. "I'm going to Akiko's house, she's teaching me how to make apple pie! Then I'll be able to make it for you, Ichi-nii!"

Ichigo hadn't the slightest idea who Akiko was, but he figured she must be one of Yuzu's many classmates. His little sister was very popular after all, he couldn't possibly know every one of her friends.

"Be careful on the road, Yuzu," he said, patting her on the shoulder before they continued on their separate ways.

"Ichi-nii!" Yuzu looked indignant. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention while you're walking!"

Ichigo opened his mouth to laugh, but it became a horrified, wordless scream as Yuzu was suddenly yanked bodily up in the air. Her eyes widened in surprise and fear, and then she was dangling in the air, her limbs flailing as something held her by the clothes on her back. Something  _invisible_.

"Ichi-nii!" Her frantic screams cut through the silence. It was a surreal sight, his little sister hanging in the air in the middle of a residential neighbourhood with nobody around but him.

 _Hollow_.

Ichigo knew it must be, purely out of instincts and past experience, even though he could not see a thing, could not sense even the slightest bit of  _reiatsu_. All he saw was Yuzu's wide, terrified eyes looking at him pleadingly. She wanted her precious Ichi-nii to save her, but he was helpless.

 _No, he was not_. Ichigo's brows furrowed in determination. He might not be able to  _see_ it, but based on Yuzu's position he could guess where it was. And if he got the location right, he could hurt it, or at least distract it.

"Pick on someone your own size!" he hollered, feeling his blood boil with rage. Why would a hollow go after Yuzu? She was weak, not like Karin, she could not see spirits or hollows even though she could sometimes sense them faintly. Somehow, at the back of his mind, Ichigo felt that he was the cause of the problem, and that made him very angry.

He picked up a largest piece of rock he could find near his feet and threw it at the air beneath Yuzu's feet. It sailed through the air and crashed harmlessly into the ground.

_Missed._

Grunting between his teeth, Ichigo grabbed a handful of rocks and threw them one after another, aiming for the general area just below Yuzu. She was screaming and crying, her voice tugging at his heart and squeezing the air from his lungs, sending him into a fit of fury. But that fury was useless if it could not save her.

 _Thunk_.

One of the rocks stopped in the air for a split second before bouncing back towards Ichigo.  _Score!_  He didn't have the luxury of congratulating himself, because right after that Yuzu was suddenly yanked even higher into the air, her tiny body shaken around, ripping more heart-wrenching shrieks of fright from her lips.

"No! Yuzu!" Ichigo lunged himself towards her, but all he managed to achieve was scrapes and bruises on his elbows and shoulders as he crashed into the ground. He lay there, coughing in the little cloud of debris that he created himself and looked up in horror. His sister was being tossed around like a ragdoll, her limbs thrashing around in a desperate attempt to free herself.

Ichigo felt a dreaded sense of hopelessness and despair sinking on him. His stomach twisted as he realized how useless he was. His sister was in danger and all he could do was fling himself around like an idiot. If he had even one tenth of the power he had...

A loud, hoarse shout cut through Yuzu's screams, and then there was a flash of movement. Something— _someone_ —leapt unbelievably high into the air behind Yuzu and let out a piercing battle cry.  _Urahara!_ Ichigo caught a graceful swing of a weapon—a sword—and Yuzu suddenly fell from the sky. Without thinking, Ichigo threw himself in her direction. But even as he did so, he knew with a sinking heart that he wasn't going to get there in time. Yuzu was going to land on the rough, hard ground.

But someone caught her. She let out a breathless cry as she landed in a pair of strong arms, and then promptly began to sob.

"Yuzu!" Ichigo jumped to his feet and rushed to her. Only then did he realize that Yuzu's savior— _their_  savior—was not Urahara.

"Kugo Ginjo," he said, his voice coming out as a whisper due to shock.

The man let Yuzu down gently and gave her a reassuring pat on the head before she ran to her brother. He grinned at Ichigo as they walked towards each other.

"Kurosaki Ichigo," Ginjo said, Ichigo's name rolling off his tongue with a familiarity that made it sound like he'd known the boy for a long time. He reached out to offer a handshake.

Ichigo shook the man's hand, face slack in shock. "Who are you?" he asked, staring pointedly at the ridiculously large sword in Ginjo's hand. " _What_  are you?"

Ginjo's eyebrows arched at Ichigo's choice of words, but his grin remained. "Your friend," he said simply. With a flick of his wrist, the sword disappeared into his fist.

Ichigo frowned; he hated playing mind games, and this guy  _reeked_  of it.

When he didn't reply, Ginjo relaxed his face into a more neutral expression. "I'm just trying to help you, kid," he said.

That reminded Ichigo that Ginjo had just saved Yuzu's life, and it immediately made him feel like an asshole. A very rude one. "Thanks," he said, holding the still-sobbing Yuzu closer to him. "I owe you."

Ginjo wrinkled his nose and waved his hand dismissively as though killing a hollow and saving their lives were nothing. "Pfft, don't mention it," the man said. His looked down fondly at Yuzu and added, "She's a very lucky girl to have a brother like you." Then, he lifted his head and gave Ichigo a meaningful look.

Ichigo's eyebrow twitched. Yet another one of those stupid mind game things; he could see that Ginjo was trying to tell him something but he had no idea what. He wished Urahara was here—the blonde would outplay this guy any day. But Ichigo...Ichigo sucked at it.

"Thank you, Kugo-san, but I'm not good at guessing," he said flatly. "Just tell me what you came here to tell me."

Ginjo raised his eyebrows again, then, when the teen simply stared at him with a stubborn frown, he sighed and rummaged through the inner pockets of his jacket. "Here," he said, handing Ichigo a name card. "You know that  _I_  know what you want, and I can help you with that."

"Yeah?" Ichigo accepted the card with a skeptical look on his face. The card said "Xcution" along with a phone number. "The hell is this?"

"It's who we are," Ginjo said with an amused smirk. "You can contact me with that number, any time."

Ichigo pocketed the card and eyed Ginjo warily. "And why would I want to contact you?"

"Because you want something back," Ginjo said with a confident smile.

Ichigo's eyes narrowed. Next to him, Yuzu continued to cling onto him and sniffle softly. "Thanks," he said, watching Ginjo carefully. "I'll think about it." Then, draping an arm over his sister's trembling shoulders, he nodded to the man and turned to leave.

"Remember," Ginjo called out to his back. "We're your friends."

* * *

Once the initial fright ebbed, Yuzu insisted that she was alright and refused to let Ichigo "baby" her, as she put it. Not wanting to argue with her, Ichigo let her be and went up to his own room.

The motivation to complete his homework eluded him, and for the longest time he found himself staring at his book unable to make any progress. His mind kept wandering to Kugo Ginjo and the mysterious "Xcution". The name card sat at one corner of his desk, seemingly tossed there carelessly.

Just thinking about Kugo made Ichigo uncomfortable. The truth was, Ichigo didn't know what to make of the man. There were so many open questions that Ichigo didn't even know where to begin to think, but one question bothered him most—how did Kugo know about his desire to regain his powers? And how did Kugo know that he  _had_  powers to begin with?

In the end, he decided that he didn't want to think about it anymore. He pushed his books aside with a sigh, then got up and shrugged on the first jacket he could find.

He needed a distraction.

* * *

"Had a bad day?" Urahara took off his hat and peered at Ichigo. He slid open the door and stepped aside to let the boy in.

Ichigo rubbed his face and blinked; he didn't think that he was being that obvious. But then again, this was Urahara Kisuke so it wasn't all that surprising.

"Nah," he said with a shrug. "I'm just tired. I'm gonna borrow your bed."

Urahara stared after the boy, one eyebrow arched in amusement, but he didn't prod. This was one of the blonde's many qualities—he was smart enough to know that sometimes the best way to gain information is to back off. Especially with someone as stubborn as Ichigo.

He followed the boy to his room and closed the door behind him. Ichigo was lying on his bed with his arms laced casually behind his head, knees bent with one leg crossed over the other. Urahara approached the bed and sat down next to the boy.

"Come on, you didn't come here to take a nap." He took out his folded fan and poked Ichigo in the ribs.

Ichigo gave him a glare and shifted aside so that the blonde could lie down beside him. Then, morphing his glare into a smirk, he rolled to his side and propped himself up on one elbow. "You're right, I'm not here to take a nap," he said, leaning closer to his lover. Ducking his head down, he nuzzled the soft pale locks, breathing in Urahara's scent.

The blonde turned and snaked his arm behind Ichigo's head. Grabbing a fistful of vivid orange hair, he pulled the boy into a kiss. His pulse immediately began to race as Ichigo ran his tongue along his lips; the touch was feather light, barely enough for him to feel it, but more than enough to make him yearn for more. With a soft moan, he opened his mouth and caught Ichigo's roaming tongue between his lips, then he reeled the boy in, pulling gently with his lips.

Without breaking the kiss, Ichigo climbed up to straddle the man's hips. He was beginning to breathe faster, his heart beating loudly in his ears, as his lips worked against his lover's. His skin tingled where the blonde's fingers went—his back, his waist, his hips, and thighs. Shivers ran through his body as those nimble fingers ran up and down his legs, leaving behind goosebumps in their wake. And then they went back up to his hips and the light touches became a firm grip.

Urahara smiled slyly and raised his hips to meet the ones he was holding in place. He felt the heat from the growing bulge in Ichigo's pants and heard the boy groan under his breath as they brushed against each other. His eyes slid closed on their own accord as the friction brought a little tremor of pleasure, and he whispered Ichigo's name.

Ichigo responded by grinding down and rubbing himself roughly against Urahara's body.

"How do you do this to me?" Urahara asked in a hoarse murmur. He could feel his face heating up as his blood began to boil in arousal.

Chuckling smugly, Ichigo leaned down and said in the older man's ear, "Because I'm  _really, really_  good." Then, before the blonde could retort, his mouth slid below the ear and latched onto the pale neck. Purring in his throat, Ichigo sucked on the tender skin, intentionally applying enough pressure to leave a mark. He loved seeing the light trail on Urahara's neck afterwards; it made him feel that Urahara was  _his_.

When he reached the hollow between the blonde's collarbones, he looked up to see the man with his eyes clenched tight and lips apart, panting softly in time with his rapid breathing. The sight alone almost made him moan out loud, and he suddenly wondered what the man looked like at the height of his release. It must be an even more glorious sight, it was a pity that he'd missed out so far because he had had his own eyes closed at the same time.

Determined to see it for himself this time, Ichigo began to slide his body southward towards Urahara's legs.

"Where're you going?" Urahara asked in a thick voice, his words slightly slurred.

Ichigo hummed vaguely as he continued to slither down the long, muscular legs before stopping when his head hovered approximately above Urahara's pelvis. He curled his fingers around the blonde's waistband and began to pull his pants down.

"Ah." Urahara sounded pleasantly surprised, and promptly raised his hips so that the garment could glide over his thighs.

After a few seconds of kicking and tugging, the obstacle was finally removed, and Ichigo stared down at his prize. His heart pounded madly in his chest as he tried to think of what he should do next. Naturally, he thought back to what Urahara did to him—that should be a good start.

Hands trembling slightly from nervousness and excitement, he bent down and grasped the shockingly hot length with one hand. Staring intently at it, he carefully stuck out his tongue and touched it. He felt Urahara jump slightly at the contact and looked up inquiringly. The blonde shook his head and mouthed "nothing"; his eyes were bright, gleaming with anticipation and curiosity.

 _No pressure_ , Ichigo thought dryly.

Feeling just a tiny bit bolder, he pressed his tongue flat against the base and slowly dragged it upwards, feeling the curves of the veins underneath the smooth, fragile skin. It was feverishly hot, and Urahara jumped again when Ichigo arrived at the tip. After a moment of hesitation, Ichigo opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around it.

The effect was instant, and Ichigo nearly gagged when the blonde gave out a muffled cry and jerked his hips into his face. He grunted his protest and pinned the man into the mattress. Urahara gave an apologetic chuckle and lay still.

Slowly, as though he was conducting an experiment, Ichigo hollowed his cheeks and lowered his head, taking more of the blonde into his mouth. It tasted a little strange even though it wasn't exactly unpleasant—slightly salty, slightly bitter, but he supposed he didn't exactly taste like a popsicle any more than Urahara did, so he didn't complain.

When he reached the base, he felt fingers digging into his hair, and he looked up. The pair of grey eyes that looked back at him were half-lidded and glassy.

Urahara smiled encouragingly at the teen; the sight was unbelievably hot—Ichigo's lips were stretched taut around him, and his cheeks were flushed. The best part was, he was looking right at him, his eyes partially hidden behind a fan of dark lashes.

Spurred on by the smile and the man's seemingly drunken state, Ichigo pulled his head back, feeling the flesh slide against the insides of his cheeks along the way. Urahara hissed softly, and Ichigo felt the man's body tense. He smiled; it must be agonizing having to refrain from moving.

With that thought in mind, he began to bob his head, letting Urahara slip in and out of his mouth. He started out slow and steady, and then as the blonde's pants became more urgent, he increased his pace. The fingers in his hair dug into his scalp; it hurt, but it also made him more excited, and he began to groan. The sounds leaving the older man's lips became a continuous stream of moans that were probably loud enough to be heard in the hallway, but neither had the presence of mind to care.

And then he felt it—a slight tremor, a small twitch, and then the blonde began to throb between his lips. He heard part of a strangled cry, and then his eyes widened in surprise as a gush of warmth hit the back of his throat. Suddenly remembering that he wanted to watch his lover's expression, he looked up just in time to see the man throw his head back and clutch the sheets in his fists. Unfortunately for him, from his angle, he couldn't see much of Urahara's face.

When the blonde finally stopped pulsing, Ichigo let go of him and crawled up the bed. Urahara caught him as he fell onto the mattress, exhausted from all that work.

"My jaw feels like it's gonna fall off," Ichigo couldn't resist complaining as he rubbed his tired muscles.

Urahara grinned and pulled the boy into his arms. "I didn't know I was  _that_  big," he quipped, and then immediately grunted as he took a punch in the stomach. Laughing, he reached down and wrapped his hand around the boy's  _other_  aching body part.

"My turn."

* * *

Ichigo's jaw remained sore for the next couple of hours, and he swore under his breath as he tried to focus on his homework. This was what he got for putting it off in the afternoon; now everyone's asleep and he was stuck staying up past midnight. But even as he grumbled inwardly, his mouth curled up into a small smile at the thought of the time he spent at Urahara's place.

He knew that the man was itching for information behind the long face he had sported when he first arrived at the shop, but he stubbornly remained silent about the matter. Urahara didn't press him.

Completing his homework became a near impossible task now that his mind wandered to Kugo Ginjo again. That blasted man and his stupid "Xcution", Ichigo thought with a frown. Could've at least gotten the spelling right.

Much as he wanted to, he couldn't forget the sense of utter helplessness that seized him when Yuzu was attacked. Had Ginjo not shown up...he shuddered at the thought. He had already seen one family member die, he didn't think he could handle another one.

He didn't realize that he had been digging his pencil into his book until the tip snapped off suddenly. Staring numbly at the ruined pencil, he felt a sudden surge of anger.  _Stupid pencil. Stupid fucking pencil._

Who was he kidding? He recognized the emotions churning in his mind right now—rage, frustration, fear, jealousy. Yes, he was absolutely jealous of Ginjo, and whomever else he was associated with. They obviously had non-human abilities, and he was jealous that they had it and he didn't.

" _Because you want something back._ "

He made a small choking sound in his throat. Yes, he wanted it back, he wanted it back so fucking much that it hurt.

But Ginjo smelled like trouble. Ichigo was never very good at reading people, not the way Rukia or Urahara was, but even he sensed that something was off with the man. The fake robbery, his cryptic words, his appearance at the right place at the right moment—they were so perfect that it felt choreographed. It probably was; he wouldn't put it past the man.

In the end, he gave up trying to finish his homework. Sighing, he dragged his tired body to the bed and sank into the soft mattress. He wasn't hopeful that he would get much sleep, but lying under the covers was way more appealing than calculus at the moment.

* * *

The weight on his back felt familiar. Instinctively, he reached up to feel what it was, and to his surprise, his hand found a hilt—no, not just any regular hilt. It was a simple, cloth-wrapped tang of a sword. It could only be one thing.

_Zangetsu!_

Ichigo swung his arm, his beloved zanpakutou grasped tightly in his fist. He couldn't believe his eyes—it really  _was_  Zangetsu. He ran his trembling fingers over the familiar outline of his cleaver-like weapon. The blade was as sharp and shiny as he remembered it.

_How is this possible?_

It was then, he finally noticed that he was wearing a black  _shihakusho_ , along with a white  _obi_ around his waist. His feet were clad in a pair of white  _tabi_  and a familiar pair of _waraji_ —the standard shinigami uniform that he had come to know so well. He patted his chest, tugged at his sleeves, stomped his feet on the ground, just to make sure that he wasn't dreaming.

He looked around, taking in the bright blue sky, the trees, and the grass beneath his feet. Was this Soul Society?

"Oi, Ichigo!"

 _Renji!_  Ichigo's eyes lit up as he recognized the voice of one of his closest friend. How he missed the loud-mouthed redhead! And there he was, walking towards him with a petite, dark-haired girl by his side.

_Rukia!_

Giddy with joy, he ran towards them. It had been so long, but they hadn't changed one bit. Rukia laughed softly as Ichigo crushed her in a tight embrace, while Renji stood next to him with his eyebrows arched in amusement. Ichigo knew he was acting like an idiot, but this was a dream come true, how else was he supposed to react?

Then, as he gradually calmed down, he realized that Renji and Rukia hadn't said a thing since they met. In fact, Rukia's smile had dimmed, her eyes a little downcast, her back slightly hunched. His eyes went to Renji, who immediately averted his gaze.

"Rukia? Renji?" Ichigo asked, suddenly alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"Do you not remember anything?" Rukia asked, looking at Ichigo sadly.

Ichigo frowned. "What should I remember?"

His friends exchanged a look. Ichigo knew that look; it was the " _you_  tell him" look, also known as the "we have some bad news, but I don't want to be the one to tell you" look.

"What is it?" Ichigo asked in a whisper even though he had a feeling he didn't want to hear the answer.

Rukia sighed and grabbed his arms. In a soft, almost-motherly voice, she said, "Ichigo, you are not a substitute shinigami anymore."

Ichigo laughed nervously. "Yeah, I know! That's why I'm so surprised that I have my powers back! How did it happen?" He flicked his eyes towards Renji and saw the man flinch.

Rukia shook him to get his attention. "Ichigo, you're a  _real_  shinigami now."

"Huh?" For a moment, Ichigo was confused and more than a little afraid. His eyes darted between Rukia and Renji, willing them to burst into laughter and tell him that it's all a joke.

Renji stepped forward. "You're dead," he said simply. Ichigo stared at his friend blankly. He knew Renji tended to be more straightforward than Rukia, and as the words sank in his head, Ichigo suddenly understood what Rukia had been trying to tell him.

"I'm dead," Ichigo echoed.

"A hollow attacked your home, and..." Rukia began, then her voice faltered. Her eyes reddened. "None of you survived."

"Karin? Yuzu?" Ichigo whispered, feeling his blood drain from his face.

Rukia looked down.

Ichigo grabbed her shoulders and shook her, not caring if he was hurting her. "Where are they? If they're dead, they'd be spirits, right? Why aren't they here?"

"You're the only one with enough spiritual pressure to become a shinigami. Karin and Yuzu...they've moved on," Rukia said, her lips quivering. "I'm sorry, Ichigo."

The corners of his vision began to fade in and out of focus as he staggered backwards.  _No, this can't be true_. Not his sisters... He looked down at Zangetsu, which suddenly felt as though it weighed a thousand tons. He had shinigami powers again, but his family was gone. Who was he supposed to protect now?

"Ichigo? Oi, Ichigo!"

* * *

Ichigo's hands trembled as he brushed his teeth. The face that stared back at him from the mirror was ashen, the dark circles around his eyes making him look at least ten years older. Hell, even his hair seemed less vibrant.

Last night's dream had shaken him to the core. He hadn't felt such bone-breaking despair since his mother's death, and the feeling stayed with him long after he'd woken up screaming.

As he swept his text books into his backpack, his eyes inevitably fell on the Xcution name card on the desk. His hands froze as the sounds from the street and the ticking clock in the room faded away until all he heard was the loud beating of his heart.

The books slipped from his hand and landed in the bag with a dull thud. His face reflected the faint glow from his cell phone screen, his eyes flicking back and forth between the keypad and the name card as he keyed in the numbers.

"Hello? I'm looking for Kugo Ginjo." Ichigo licked his lips as he listened to the voice coming from the other end. "Tell him it's Kurosaki Ichigo."

* * *

**To be continued...**


	7. Chapter 7

"Ichigo, meet Riruka." A teenage girl with a head of long, obnoxious magenta hair styled in pigtails scowled at Ichigo.

Ginjo gestured to an older gentleman with an eyepatch. "Giriko." The man nodded at Ichigo, his expression neither welcoming nor hostile, his hands busy wiping down the wine glass in his hands even though it was already gleaming under the light.

"Jackie." A tall, lean woman with tanned skin and chin-length black hair flicked a wrist dismissively in his general direction. He supposed it could pass as a wave.

Pointing to a short, blond-haired boy, Ginjo said, "And finally, Yukio." The boy gave Ichigo a disinterested look through half-lidded eyes, then immediately turned back to his PlayStation Vita.

 _Friendly lot_ , Ichigo noted. His fists clenched involuntarily as he eyed the strange group warily.

If Ginjo noticed the boy's tense appearance, he didn't show it. Instead, he went on as though everything was fine and dandy, "Everyone, this is Ichigo." He didn't seem discouraged when his companions merely shot him a bored look.

Ichigo's internal alarm bells had been going off ever since he dialed the number on the name card. He knew this was probably the stupidest, and possibly most dangerous, thing he'd done in a long time, but after the nightmare he had last night, something had snapped inside him.

It was time to stop moping around and actually  _do_  something, and Ginjo was giving him the chance to do it. He had no idea what Ginjo had planned, but at this point Ichigo was willing to try anything.

Ginjo didn't sound surprised when he finally got on the phone this morning. He simply greeted Ichigo in a pleasant voice and gave him directions to an apartment building in the neighboring town. It had taken Ichigo almost an hour to find the place after school, but after taking multiple wrong turns, he managed to find it in the end.

"So, how are we gonna do this?" he asked, unable to completely conceal the skepticism in his tone. "And why do you want to help me?"

Before Ginjo could reply, Riruka rolled her eyes and huffed, "Ungrateful brat."

Ichigo bristled but bit his tongue. It looked like Ginjo was the only one who wanted to help; the rest seemed to either not care or, in Riruka's case, downright resent the idea.

This time, Ginjo noticed the darkening of Ichigo's eyes. Holding up his hands between Riruka and Ichigo in a request for peace, he said to Ichigo, "Don't mind her, she's probably on her period."

"Hey!" The girl blushed a deep pink and directed a murderous glare at her friend.

Once again, Ichigo couldn't help questioning his own decision to come here, but the thought of regaining his powers overrode everything, and he forced himself to ignore the insistent nagging voice in his head.

"Because I sense your frustration," Ginjo said with a nonchalant shrug. "We have the same goal as you do, so we understand what you're going through."

Ichigo's eyes narrowed at once. He  _hated_  it when people say that; it was simply impossible for an outsider to fully comprehend what he had gone through, especially someone whom he just met a few days ago. He wanted to lash out so badly; only the tiny spark of hope from Ginjo's offer managed to hold him back.

"What goal?" he asked, his voice clipped.

Ginjo spread his arms and gestured to his companions. "We...all of us...had suffered the loss of people dear to us in the manner not unlike yours, and in the process gained the power to protect. Our goal, our  _mission_ , is to make sure that no one else has to go through what we've gone through." His face had lost its earlier playfulness, his jaw was tight, his brows slightly furrowed in seriousness.

For once, Ichigo thought he detected a trace of passion in the man's voice, even though his words sounded kind of corny. "So, how are we gonna do this?" Ichigo repeated.

"Do you trust me?" Ginjo asked in response.

Ichigo hesitated as he looked at the man; Ginjo's eyebrows were raised expectantly. Of course he didn't trust him, but he couldn't make himself lie to the man's face even if it meant that he would be kicked out. No matter how desperate he was, Ichigo had principles. So he simply bit his lip and stared at the larger man in silence.

Ginjo sighed, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. But he didn't back off. Instead, he patted Ichigo on the shoulder with an almost paternal manner. "You will see, Ichigo. With time, you will see that we are your friends." And then he smiled.

* * *

Ichigo backed up against the wall and stared at the big, fluffy stuffed animal towering over him. His mouth hung open in disbelief; surely this was a dream. A nightmare—a ridiculous one too boot.

"This is your idea of training?" he yelled, his eyes darting around to look for a hiding place.

High above him, Ginjo's face hovered where the ceiling should be. The size of the man's face reminded Ichigo just how tiny he was at the moment.

_Un-fucking-believable._

Earlier, Riruka had grudgingly agreed to "train" Ichigo. Except, her idea of "training" was to shrink him and then stick him into a doll house— _a fucking doll house!_ —and ask him to fight a toy. No instructions, no explanations. Just a simple "beat him".

"What the fuck am I supposed to do?" Ichigo hollered, and then immediately dove behind another—thankfully inanimate—stuffed toy for cover as his opponent slammed a furry paw on where he had been just a split second ago.

Riruka's face appeared next to Ginjo's. "Fight him!" she said, one corner of her mouth curled up in a challenging smirk.

Ichigo backed up against another wall before throwing himself across the room, barely avoiding another paw. "With what?" Not even five minutes into the "training", and he was already convinced that this whole thing was a mistake.

He grunted in frustration as he sprinted along the wall, closely followed by a panting, growling bunny. A  _pink_  bunny! It looked like something Rukia would like. How was he supposed to "fight" this abomination? Throw a toy at it? Breathing heavily himself, he risked a quick turn of his head and ended up tripping over a protruding piece of wood near the floor. Thrown off-balance, he crash-landed a few feet in front of him and rolled over. Before he could overcome the momentum of the fall, his back connected with the wall, knocking the breath out of his lungs.

"Fuck!" His attacker closed down on him, and he frantically scrambled to his hands and feet and half-ran, half-crawled away. But he was just a fraction too slow. He felt a jarring impact on his legs, and then he was yanked down bodily. Taken by surprise, all he could do was cover his face with his hands; his elbows smashed into the floor. It was a good thing he was not too far from the floor to begin with, so even though the landing sent a blast of pain up his arms, he was pretty sure nothing broke. Still, he lay there for a few seconds, dazed and breathless from the fall.

His opponent seemed as surprised as he was that it had managed to catch its prey; by the time it realized it, it had already let go of Ichigo and was rearing up for another hit. Ichigo didn't waste the opening; picking himself up from the floor, he reached for the first thing he found—it was another piece of wood. Fumbling to wrap his hand around it, he realized it was actually the leg of a chair that had toppled over. With a rush of determination, he grabbed the chair and swung it blindly at the stuffed toy. He got lucky.

With a pained roar, the toy bunny's legs were knocked out from beneath it, and it crashed to its knees and fell forward, nearly crushing Ichigo in the process. He swore loudly and swung the chair above his head for the next blow. Except, he didn't notice how close he was to his opponent's hand. With a surprised yelp, he was swiped off his feet and thrown across the room.

He landed on one shoulder and rolled some distance away. Gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain, he stood up on wobbly legs and screamed at the top of his lungs. "What the fuck is this?"

Riruka looked at him and blinked innocently. "What do you mean? This is your training."

"What the fuck kind of training is this?" Ichigo yelled, his face red from indignation and exertion, and then immediately had to dive for cover again. "I  _really_  don't see the point in this!"

The distraction from this brief conversation cost him a blow to his side, and he was thrown against the wall, landing on his already-sore shoulder. Growling in anger, he turned around and faced his opponent. It was still several feet away from him. His mind worked frantically—the toy was large, clumsy, and obviously had no battle strategy. It was just coming after him blindly; with its size, there was no way Ichigo could win using brute force. He had to outsmart it.

Without realizing it, he was analyzing his enemy, not unlike the way he used to do in the past. It wasn't slow, but its movement wasn't coordinated. Ichigo narrowed his eyes and thought back to the hits he had taken so far. It was always the paws—it was its only weapon; at least, it seemed to be the only weapon it knew to use. And it was very unstable on its feet—he recalled how easy it had been to make it fall.

His brows furrowed as he ran the facts through his mind, and by the time he looked up again, his opponent was gone.

Ichigo's heart sank as he realized that he had forgotten an important fact—one could not afford the luxury of standing idle to strategize during a battle. With a burst of adrenaline, he whipped his head around, but it was too late. He caught a flash of movement, and then there was blinding pain—it exploded through his entire body, completely overwhelming his senses, so much so that he was only vaguely aware that he was sailing through the air. He heard a gasp of alarm from above, and then his back rammed into a hard surface. Stunned from the impact, he wasn't even able to make a sound before landing on the floor in a crumpled heap.

A shadow loomed over him, and Ichigo raised his head shakily, barely able to open his eyes.

_I'm gonna die._

As the realization dawned, he couldn't help chuckling at the absurdity of it all. He survived Ulquiorra, survived Aizen, only to succumb to a fucking  _stuffed animal_.

_Kisuke..._

He felt the air stir above his head, and his eyes slid closed.

* * *

Ichigo blinked. As consciousness returned, his headache hit him full in the face like a freight train, and he gasped out loud.

"Are you okay?" A distorted male voice asked.

Head swimming, Ichigo held up a hand to ask the person to shut the fuck up, while his other hand went to hold his head together. His temples throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

A whiny female voice cut in, "I didn't think it was  _that_  bad. What a wimp."

Ichigo's head snapped up in anger despite his condition. His eyes met a pair of large, reddish-brown eyes. The owner—Riruka, if he recalled correctly—stared at him with no sign of remorse even though she had nearly gotten him killed. The girl stood a few feet away from him with one of her hips stuck out at an angle, and her lips were curled up in a challenging sneer.

"Go to hell," Ichigo rasped.

"Give him a break, Riruka," the same male voice admonished. As his head gradually cleared, Ichigo could now recognize that the voice belonged to Ginjo. The man's eyes were laced with concern as he took a closer look at Ichigo.

Ichigo flinched when Ginjo touched his forearm, but the man continued anyway; he squeezed Ichigo's arms lightly, feeling the bones and quickly inspecting the forming bruises. Ignoring Ichigo's glare, he gently went over the boy's head and finally announced that Ichigo did not suffer any permanent damage.

Even through the haze of his headache, Ichigo began to feel the throbbing in his shoulder and back. He gingerly peeled his collar off his aching shoulder and groaned in dismay when he saw the angry patch of red and purple. He supposed it was lucky that the shoulder was not dislocated, seeing how many times he had landed on it during the training.

Yeah, "training". Ichigo felt a surge of anger, and he stood up abruptly, only to sway dangerously on his feet.

"You are out of your mind," he spat at Ginjo after he was finally able to steady himself.

The man looked stricken. "It went slightly out of control, I didn't expect it to turn out that way. I'm sorry, Ichigo." Ginjo sounded sincere, but it wasn't enough to provide any true reassurance or explanation behind the logic of his so-called method to help Ichigo regain his powers.

Ichigo stretched his neck, wincing as his sore muscles protested his movements. "I'm out," he snapped, deciding that it had been a stupid idea to even try this in the first place. "I've had enough."

Riruka let out a snicker. "I knew he wouldn't last," she said to Ginjo, but the man ignored her.

"Ichigo, believe me, this was just an accident," Ginjo said, stepping forward to block Ichigo's exit route. "Give it one more chance, Ichigo."

Behind Ginjo, Riruka gave a snort and rolled her eyes. Her obvious disrespect and unspoken challenge grated on Ichigo's ego, and he found himself suddenly defensive.

"You really want it back, don't you?" Ginjo asked quietly.

Ichigo looked at the man and felt his resolve waver. Of course he really wanted it back, but was it enough to go through this humiliation and danger again? His fists clenched involuntarily.

"He doesn't have the balls to do it," Riruka sneered.

That was it. Ichigo took a deep breath. "One more chance," he said through his teeth, glaring at both of them. Like it or not, he had to admit that the earlier exercise had triggered some of his old instincts—the adrenaline rush that pushed him during the fight had dragged out skills that he hadn't had the chance to use for a long time. Crazy as it was, it was better than nothing.

"Good," Ginjo said with a smile. "It'll work, I promise."

* * *

Ichigo was glad that he wasn't hit on the face or anywhere visible that might attract unwanted attention. He had the feeling that it would only get worse the next time.

 _Just one more time_ , he thought as he walked down the street back to Karakura. He'd stayed for another hour to recover from his dizziness, and the pill that he took for pain had started to kick in. If he ignored the soreness of his muscles, he felt almost normal.

 _Just a rough workout session_. Yeah, that's what he would say if anyone asked. Still, he would rather not have to explain. He would just have to wear long-sleeved shirts for a couple of weeks while his bruises recovered.

One other thing had his mind occupied as well. It didn't escape him that Urahara had flashed through his mind right before he passed out. It wasn't Yuzu, or Karin, or his dad. It was ironic, given that they were the motivation for all of this in the first place, and rather disturbing.

Had he really begun to care about this man so much?

He wasn't paying attention to where he was going, just that he was heading towards Karakura, and when it finally occurred to him that he was already  _in_  Karakura, he looked up to see where he was in the neighborhood. With a start, he realized that he was only one block away from Urahara's shop.

_Coincidence?_

Either way, he decided to drop by.  _Might as well_.

The blonde was at the door even before Ichigo could knock the second time, and he was invited in. It was only when he walked by the kitchen that he suddenly realized that he was parched.

"Hi," Ichigo said as Tessai reached for a cup to get him some tea. "Thanks." The burly man's gaze lingered on his face just a split second longer than normal before he turned back to his chopping board.

"Does he know?" Ichigo asked, sliding the door closed after they both stepped into Urahara's room.

Urahara looked at him in amusement. "Do you care?"

Ichigo shrugged. "Not really, was just curious," he said. Balancing the full cup carefully, he sat down on the edge of the bed and took a generous sip.

"You seem tired," Urahara commented, noting the sigh of relief and the sudden release of tension in the boy's body.

Feeling slightly guilty, Ichigo use his planned response. He saw the blonde's eyebrows rise just a fraction, but since the man didn't press further, he didn't elaborate.

"Let me give you a massage, how about that?" Urahara offered with a smile. Before Ichigo could refuse, the older man rested his palms on his shoulder and squeezed.

Hot tea splashed on Ichigo's fingers and across a bit of the bed sheets and floor as he flinched. The squeeze, though very light, sent a sharp jolt of pain up his spine, and his body reacted naturally before he could stop himself. Hissing in pain from the hot liquid, Ichigo quickly placed the cup on Urahara's night stand and began to wipe his fingers on his shirt.

Urahara sat quietly through the outburst, but when Ichigo finally settled back down next to him, he said dryly, "That's some workout."

Ichigo gave him a sheepish smile. He should've known better than to think that he could fool the man.

"Let me see it." Urahara's voice was soft, but it didn't leave any room for debate.

With a sigh, Ichigo pulled his collar off his shoulder. He heard a sharp intake of breath.

"What happened?" the blonde asked.

Ichigo risked a sideways glance at the older man. There was no way Urahara would approve of his decision, he knew that much. But he couldn't lie.

Sure enough, not even halfway through his confession, Urahara's face had darkened. But he remained silent and simply stared at Ichigo with a look of exasperation and waited for the boy to finish.

"You obviously already know what I'm going to say," he said with a sigh when Ichigo was done.

Ichigo nodded. "Yeah."

"Are you really that desperate?" Urahara asked, his heart heavy. He knew that something like this was going to happen sooner or later, but this was sooner than he'd expected.

"Yes." Ichigo's eyes held a glint of determination. "You have no idea how much I want this."

Urahara forced himself to swallow the words that had gathered on the tip of his tongue.  _No, not now, not yet._

"Let me do this," Ichigo said, his hands curling into fists. "Just one more time. If it turns out to be the bullshit like today, I'll stop. I promise."

Urahara's hands went to his temples. This  _thing_ —these people—was setting off every warning bell in his body, but he knew there was nothing he could say to hold the boy back. He would have to trust Ichigo's judgement. For now.

"I'll be careful," Ichigo whispered. He moved closer to the older man and climbed into his lap, ignoring the pain that shot through his limbs as his muscles stretched.

"You shouldn't move like this," Urahara gasped, holding the boy's waist to keep him still. He caught the slight frown on Ichigo's face and shifted his weight so that Ichigo could be more comfortable. "Ichigo..."

"Mmm" was all the boy said before he dove down to claim the the blonde's mouth. Hooking his arms around the back of Urahara's neck, he leaned into the older man's body. Their lips parted for each other and their tongues slid together smoothly, caressing one another with unhurried tenderness. Then Ichigo rolled his hips—while ignoring the ache in his back—and heard his lover's breath hitch in his throat as they rubbed against each other.

Despite his intention to advise the boy that they should wait until he wasn't so sore, Urahara felt himself harden.

Ichigo's lips left his and went to his ear. "I'll be careful." And then the teen slid off his lap and pulled him down to the bed.

* * *

He had never been to Ichigo's school, but he had no problem finding it. Having arrived early, he shrunk into the shadows near the entrance and waited for the last bell. He had never spied on Ichigo like this, and had no intention to make it a habit. Unfortunately, the alarm bells in his head had only increased overnight, and he figured that this was a fair exception.

Keeping his distance, he followed the boy as he navigated through unfamiliar neighborhoods. When Ichigo finally stopped in front of a dirty, ill-maintained apartment building, he pressed himself into the wall of the building across the street, careful to keep his easily-recognizable bucket hat out of sight.

After a moment of hesitation, Ichigo ascended the stairs and didn't stop until he arrived at the corner unit on the second floor. He watched as the boy tapped his foot on the floor impatiently, then the door swung open and a hand reached out to hold it open.

Before he could make out anything more about the owner of the thick, mascular arm, Ichigo stepped into the apartment and disappeared.

It looked like he would have to speed up his plan.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	8. Chapter 8

"Think you can handle me better than Riruka's stupid trick?" The slim, dark-skinned woman eyed Ichigo with more than a hint of skepticism in her voice. Her gaze lingered on his wounded shoulder.

Ichigo felt his hackles rise under Jackie's critical gaze. "If you fight fair, yes," he said, gritting his teeth at the memory of the ridiculous "training" session from the day before.

She laughed in her deep, full voice, actually sounding genuinely entertained by Ichigo's indignation. Her lips curled up into a smirk and she gestured to Ginjo. "I like him," she said. "He has spirit, if not the skills." Then she looked at Ichigo again, her eyes sparkling with challenge.

Riruka slinked up next to Ginjo and said with a sneer, "We'll see how long that  _spirit_  lasts, wimp."

"Riruka, stop it," Ginjo said curtly. "We don't want to screw up the one chance that Ichigo gave us, do we now?" He threw the boy an apologetic look, then turned to Riruka. "Get them ready."

* * *

Once again Ichigo found himself backed up against the wall inside Riruka's doll house, except this time she had cleared most of the obstacles, giving them more space to move around. But that also meant less hiding places for Ichigo to run for cover.

"Are you ready?" Jackie asked from across the room.

Ichigo narrowed his eyes. At least this time Jackie had taken some time to explain the point of this exercise—fight her in hand-to-hand combat. He was rusty, but given the warm-up on his reflexes yesterday, he felt confident that he stood a chance. His body no longer ached that much after Urahara healed most of his bruises, which was a plus.

"Yes," he said, getting into a fighting stance with one hand tucked close to his body and the other held in an open palm angled sideways in his opponent's direction.

He saw a blur of movement, and then Jackie was in the air with one of her legs extended and aimed at his head. Her dark eyes flashed as she closed in on Ichigo.

Ichigo waited till the last moment possible, then stepped aside quickly to avoid her. When Jackie landed barely a foot away from him, he fell into a crouch and lashed a leg out to trip her. He missed.

With an amused chuckle, the woman did a backflip and slipped easily out of Ichigo's range. "Not bad!" she yelled, sounding pleased.

Ichigo clenched his jaw and sprinted towards her, keeping his eyes focused on her. The slightest flex of her muscles should give her next destination away. He saw her eyes flick towards her left, and he immediately slanted his body to the right in response. Then his eyes widened when he realized that he had been tricked.

Laughing in delight, Jackie twisted her body and swung her impossibly long legs around, catching him in the temple. He felt his head snap to the side, and he fell to his knees, his vision threatening to darken. Temporarily unable to get back on his feet, he curled up his body and braced himself for another hit.

None came.

Surprised, Ichigo looked up. Jackie stood a few feet away with her feet apart and her hands on her hips.

"Why'd you stop?" he asked, feeling a little insulted.

Jackie raised her eyebrows. "We're training, not actually fighting. I don't see the point in hitting you when you're down," she said matter-of-factly.

The woman wasn't condescending in any way, but Ichigo felt his face flush in shame. She was holding back for his sake—it was almost like being treated extra kindly by Inoue, and it made him feel angry at himself.

"Don't," he growled, standing up. He ran his hand through the side of his head and hair and was relieved to see no sign of blood. "Don't go easy on me."

Jackie laughed in amusement. "Ginjo said you're pretty desperate, and I didn't believe it," she said, running her eyes up and down Ichigo, who had gotten into fighting stance again. "Guess you really are, after all." With that, she launched herself into the air.

Ichigo ducked low as her boots swept the air above his face and slid out beneath her. Without waiting for her to land, he twisted around and got back on his feet. He grinned; Jackie still had her back to him—this was a perfect opening, and he took it. His heels connected with her shoulder briefly before she lowered her body to her right and avoided a direct hit to her head.

"Good job!" Jackie yelled. At the same time, she rolled a few feet away and, without pausing, launched herself in Ichigo's direction again.

Her movement was so shockingly fast that Ichigo barely had time to move away. As it was, he felt her leg whoosh past him; it was so close that he felt the hair on his face rise. After staggering back a few steps, he spun around on his heels and steadied himself.

Jackie stood across the room with a large grin on her face. "Good reflexes!" she shouted, giving Ichigo a thumbs-up.

Ichigo found himself grinning back; this was definitely better than what he endured the day before—it was actually quite promising. At the thought, he felt a rush of excitement course through his veins. It had been a long time since he felt this way.

He didn't get much time to congratulate himself, however. In a blink of an eye Jackie was gone again, and it was not until she let out a whoop that Ichigo looked up to find her upside down in the air with her arms outstretched in the middle of an unbelievably high summersault. Instinctively, he raised his hands above his head to shield himself. He felt her sharp fingers dig into his forearms as she reached down to grab him, and then before he could wrench free, he was suddenly tossed across the room.

Ichigo's vision blurred as he landed and rolled on the floor.  _Shit, not fast enough_.

"You asked me not to hold back!" He heard Jackie's voice, and then there was a bone-jarring impact as her boots crushed into his stomach, sending him flying further until he crashed into the wall.

He felt bile rise in the back of his throat and he curled up, hugging his abdomen. He only had enough time to cough once before he felt hands on the back of his shirt and then he was once again flung across the room.

" _Tsk tsk tsk...you've gotten weak, my king._ "

Ichigo's eyes snapped open at the taunt. The shock from hearing the familiar voice dulled the pain of his crash landing.

_Him._

_No._  Gritting his teeth, Ichigo picked himself off the floor, but he had underestimated the blows that he'd taken. His stomach clenched, and he fell onto his hand and knees. The bile that he had been holding back spilled from his lips, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. And his lips stung, probably split some time during the ordeal.

"No," he breathed, fighting down a sudden sense of panic. His vision darkened, and he heard a soft, high-pitched chuckle in his head. "No," he said again, louder, firmer this time.

"Talking to me? Shall I stop?" Jackie hollered, her hands folded over her chest as she waited for Ichigo to recover.

" _She doesn't think very highly of you, neh?_ "

"No!" Ichigo stood up on shaky legs and clasped his hands over his ears. He was beginning to hyperventilate, more from the rising dread in his chest than exertion.

" _Shall I show her what we can do?_ "

* * *

"You didn't say he could do that!" Through a fog, Ichigo heard a girlish voice say indignantly.  _Riruka_ , he thought groggily. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were too heavy.

A man hushed the girl. "I think he's waking up."  _Ginjo_. Ichigo stirred, trying to pry his eyelids open.

"Yo, Ichigo," Ginjo patted the boy's cheek.

Ichigo groaned. It was difficult, but after a few more tries he managed to peel his eyes open. He saw a few blurred faces hovering nearby, all peering at him intently as if he had suddenly sprouted two heads.

"W-what hap-ppened?" he slurred. The faces turned to look at each other, and then Ginjo rested a palm on his forehead as though to check his temperature.

"What do you remember?" the man asked with a frown.

Ichigo took a deep breath.  _Him_. This wasn't something he wanted to share with these people. So, instead of answering, he tried to sit up on the couch. Hands shot out to help him, and as he struggled, he caught sight of a prone figure sprawled on the couch across from him.

Jackie. The woman's eyes were closed, seemingly unconscious, one side of her face swollen and bruised in an angry swirl of red and purple visible even against her dark skin. Her chest rose and fell in a slow but steady rhythm.

"What happened?" Ichigo asked again, straightening up in alarm. "Is she alright?"

Riruka stepped forward and glared at him, but he noticed that she kept a wary distance. "That's what we all wanna ask  _you_ ," she spat.

Ichigo blinked. He remembered his failed attempts at dodging Jackie's attacks, and then... _that voice_. Beyond that, it was all a blank. "I..." he said hesitantly. "I don't remember."

"She's just knocked out, she'll be fine," Ginjo said, his brows still furrowed. Ichigo couldn't tell if the man was angry or deep in thought. There was a long pause as all the Xcution members stared at him in silence. "You would've killed her if we hadn't gotten her out in time."

Ichigo swallowed audibly. " _Shall I show her what we can do?_ " A chill ran up his spine and spread to his limbs. How could it be?  _He_  was supposed to be gone. Gone along with the rest of his powers. If he had somehow resurfaced, that would mean...

"It's working," Ichigo whispered.

* * *

Ichigo leaned against the door frame as the shuffling of feet became louder. Then the door slid open and Urahara appeared.

The boy's lip was flecked with blood, not unlike how his own had been not too long ago. The blonde sighed and held out his hand to support the tired figure, who immediately slumped into his arms in exhaustion.

Forcing himself to keep silent, Urahara led Ichigo to his bathroom and began to inspect the boy for wounds. The split lip was the worst, everything else were mostly bruises. Alarming, especially the one across his abdomen, but nothing too damaging.

"I'm going back there," Ichigo said finally. He heard the older man suck in a deep breath.

"You said you'd only go one more time," Urahara said quietly.

Ichigo lay down on Urahara's bed and sighed as some of the tension in his muscles left him. "I said I'd stop going if it turned out to be the same bullshit," he corrected, giving the blonde a sideways glance.

Urahara exhaled slowly. He hadn't stayed for long after Ichigo entered the apartment, but he did do a headcount based on whatever he could sense from the outside. There were five others besides Ichigo, some stronger than others—human, yet not quite human. He needed more information, and in the meantime, he needed to keep Ichigo away from them.

Ichigo saw the blonde's darkened eyes and sat up straighter. "You can't talk me out of it," he said defensively.

"Ichigo," Urahara said. A hint of admonishment entered his voice, and he immediately saw the boy's shoulders tense up. "You know it's dangerous."

The teen stood up. "You don't know that," he said, eyes narrowing. He suppressed the unpleasant memory of what happened to Jackie. It's all part and parcel of his powers, if getting his powers back meant that he had to deal with  _him_  again, he would just have to deal with it when the time came.

The blonde sighed. "Ichigo, you don't know these people, and you don't know their motives."

"Yes I do," Ichigo said at once. "I already told you—"

"That they simply want to help you because they want to protect people," Urahara finished for him. "Ichigo, nobody does something like that for free. They'll want something in return."

The boy clenched his fists and stepped forward. "You don't know that," he repeated.

Urahara looked at Ichigo's tight, stubborn lips and gave it one more try, "I've never sensed  _reiatsu_  like theirs before. Just give me some more time to learn more about them, then we can decide. How about that?"

Ichigo's eyes narrowed. "Sensed? You can sense them from here?"

The blonde hesitated. To answer that honestly would be to acknowledge that he had followed Ichigo. But as it turned out, his hesitation was all Ichigo needed to make his own conclusion.

"Did you follow me?" Ichigo's voice was ice cold. He took another step towards the older man.

"I wanted to see it for myself," Urahara said carefully.

Ichigo growled low in his throat, his eyes narrowing even further as anger and hurt welled within him. "You fucking  _spied_ on me!"

"Ichigo..." Urahara closed their distance and rested his palms on the boy's shoulders. "I'm just trying to protect you."

"I don't need any fucking protection!" Ichigo spat, swiping the man's hands off his body. "I can't believe you did this, I thought you trusted me!"

The blonde grabbed Ichigo's arms. "I trust you, but I don't trust them," he said soothingly.

"I don't believe you—" Ichigo wrapped his fingers around Urahara's wrist and flung it away from him. For a second he looked as though he was going to follow it with a swing of his fist, but just as Urahara held up his hand to block it, Ichigo swayed on his feet and staggered backwards.

"Ichigo?" Urahara reached for the boy. Ichigo stared at him with a look of confusion, and then his eyes rolled back in his head.

* * *

When Ichigo opened his eyes again, he found himself nestled in a pair of strong arms, his head resting on Urahara's lap. He stayed still, unwilling to move from the comforting warmth.

"Feel better?"

Ichigo turned and buried his face into the folds of his lover's clothes. His body ached, his head throbbed, and he was so, so tired. It felt good to be held like this.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," Urahara said, brushing wisps of orange hair from the boy's cheeks.

Ichigo murmured something under his breath.

"What? I can't hear you." The blonde leaned in.

The boy's words were barely audible. "I really want it back." His voice was broken, and thick as though he had something stuck in his throat.

Urahara felt his chest tighten.  _Just wait a little longer, Ichigo_ , he wanted to say. Instead, he simply held the boy closer and remained silent.

"Kisuke," Ichigo whispered, curling his fingers around the blonde's robe. Then, using the grip as leverage, he propped himself up on an elbow. He tugged a few more times, and Urahara finally responded. His hand slid down from Ichigo's shoulders to his back, supporting some of the boy's body weight to relieve the strain on his sore muscles. They leaned in closer and closer, eyes sliding shut, and then their lips met.

Ichigo's traced his lover's lower lip, and Urahara parted for him. Groaning at the boy's prodding and gentle strokes, Urahara cupped Ichigo's cheek and deepened their kiss, feeling the usual flush spreading from his chest up his neck, and then up to his cheeks as his arousal awakened.

Sensing their escalating desires, Ichigo shifted his body and lay down on the bed, where Urahara had been sitting while cradling his head. The blonde's breath quickened as he felt himself being pulled down on top of the boy. He gave Ichigo a look, worried about his health, but Ichigo gave a stubborn nod and began to tug his own t-shirt over his head.

Urahara ran his eyes up and down the chiseled abdominal muscles as they were gradually exposed and then, he, too, began to shed his clothes.

As their bodies slid up against each other, fingers began to roam, kneading, caressing, wringing soft moans from their lips. Ichigo arched into the body above his and thrust his hips up, communicating his need. The aches and bruises on his body no longer commanded his attention; all he wanted was to feel himself enveloped in the reassuring arms of his lover, the only man who could bring him pleasure that dulled everything else.

Urahara moved cautiously, avoiding the angry splotches of color on the pale skin. After a quick drizzling of oil, he slowly eased his fingers into the waiting body beneath him, prodding and stretching as Ichigo gasped for breath. He felt the boy tremble, and then Ichigo was suddenly whispering his name, urging him to hurry.

Urahara slid his arms under the boy's knees and brought their bodies closer together. Biting his lip to stifle a moan, he carefully pushed in, feeling Ichigo's muscles yield to him. Mindful of Ichigo's condition, he rocked his hips slowly, keeping his penetration gentle and shallow.

Ichigo, however, was in no mood for something so sensual. Throwing the older man a glare through half-lidded eyes, he thrust back, forcing the man into him. Urahara's eyes flashed in understanding.

Pushing the boy into the mattress, the blonde lowered himself onto his elbows. He brushed his lips lightly on Ichigo's, then, taking in a deep breath, he slid his arms below Ichigo's shoulders to hold him in place, and snapped his hips in a deep, rough thrust. The searing heat and tightness ripped a choked groan from his throat, and he heard an answering cry from the boy.

He wanted to ask Ichigo if he was okay, but before he could do so, Ichigo grinded his hips against him, already asking for more. The urgency in the boy's moans and ragged breathing spurred him on, and he moved, pushing deeper with each thrust, feeling the muscles clench around him as he slid in and out, over and over again until Ichigo's voice became hoarse and broken.

And then with a strangled scream of his lover's name, Ichigo peaked, his orgasm blinding him in a rush of pleasure. He heard a shuddering moan by his ear, and then Urahara stiffened on top of him. The spreading warmth inside drew a contented sigh from him, and they both relaxed, the afterglow lulling them into a dreamy haze.

For a while they simply laid there, sweat-slicked bodies pressed together and breathing in sync. Then, Ichigo broke the silence.

"I really need this, Kisuke." Ichigo's voice was quiet, no longer angry, but it carried an air of finality. "I want to be able to protect them again. I want to see Rukia, Renji..."

Urahara sighed in defeat as he took in the determined glint in the boy's eyes. He knew the argument was over, and that he had lost.

* * *

Urahara retrieved his coat from the hanger and shrugged it on. He couldn't stop Ichigo, but he could at least speed up his plan. He had already gotten the ball rolling, now it was just a matter of making sure that it progressed as quickly as possible.

He opened his bedroom door and stepped outside, then he stopped. Tessai was standing there, blocking his way.

"Kisuke," he said. His voice was low and not exactly friendly.

"Yes?" Urahara asked, even though he knew what this was about.

"You can't keep doing this," Tessai said gravely. "He's just a boy."

Urahara sucked in a deep breath before saying, "He knows what he's doing, and so do I, Tessai."

Tessai stared at his old friend for a few seconds, scrutinizing his face. "Do you love him?" he asked finally.

The blonde stared back in silence, his piercing gaze so unnerving that Tessai found himself looking away. Once the eye contact was broken, Urahara turned and walked out of the shop.

* * *

"So they gave the okay?" Kurosaki Isshin asked, leaning back into his chair as he kicked up his legs on his desk. He looked inquiringly at his friend, who was seated across from him.

Urahara nodded. "I will come and get you tomorrow night, then I will do it after you. I will need your help."

Isshin sighed. "He will be so happy, you know," he said, lacing his fingers behind his head.

The blonde looked up. "He will indeed," he agreed. Having delivered the message, he stood up and prepared to leave.

"Wait." Isshin straightened up in his chair and leaned forward.

Urahara's hand froze a few inches away from the door knob, then, he turned around to face Ichigo's father. Their eyes met, and he involuntarily held his breath in anticipation of what was to come.

"You and Ichigo..." Isshin let his sentence trail off while he kept his gaze steady. "You are very close to him," he said. It came out as a statement, like an observation.

It was then, Urahara knew that Isshin knew. He nodded. "Yes," he said simply, bracing for the worst.

There was a long stretch of tense silence. Then, Isshin's eyes softened and he sighed heavily. "Take care of him."

The implication of his friend's words was not lost on Urahara. Exhaling slowly, he nodded again. They held each other's gaze in silent understanding, then he opened the door and left.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	9. Chapter 9

The lone figure on the street stumbled a few steps before finally resting an arm against the wall. The sweat-drenched t-shirt was plastered against the boy's torso, exposing the sharp ridges of his ribs and muscles. His legs trembled from fatigue, but he felt nothing but elation.

After the incident with Jackie, Ichigo had been certain that he would be kicked out by Ginjo, but to his surprise, the man had instead offered to train him himself. The other Xcution members had looked at Ginjo like he was mad, but he seemed unfazed, and if anything, expressed more interest in what happened to Ichigo than Ichigo would've liked.

This time, he had felt a stirring of energy in his limbs as he fended off Ginjo's insistent attacks. The man did not hold back, forcing Ichigo into corners again and again, and each time Ichigo managed to get himself out of the tight spots. Whether it was instincts or the reawakening of his powers, he couldn't tell, but he thought he felt his speed increase, his senses more acute.

He had been wary at first, hesitant to fight back with all his might because of that dreaded voice in his head. But as the sparring continued and nothing unexpected happened, Ichigo began to push himself further, testing the limits of his body. By the time Ginjo put down the practice sword and announced the end of today's training, his inner hollow was nothing but a whispered echo in his mind. He felt refreshed despite the exhaustion that threatened to turn his bones into jelly—it had been a long time since he felt so alive.

And now he half-walked, half-stumbled to Urahara's shop. He knew the blonde would not be happy to see him in this state, but he couldn't possibly go home like this. Yuzu and Karin would freak out, and he'd have a lot of explaining to do if his dad happened to be home.

Only through sheer power of will did Urahara manage to swallow his sharp words at the sight of the boy sitting on the steps outside his store. Ichigo had not bothered to knock, seeing how Urahara always managed to sense his presence anyway. So he simply sat outside and waited for the door to open.

"I need to shower," Ichigo said, reaching out to lace his fingers around the hand that was extended to him.

Urahara yanked the boy to his feet and quickly did a visual inspection for injuries. There was nothing new that was immediately visible, but Ichigo limped slightly, favoring his right side as he walked slowly towards the bathroom.

Ichigo left the door open as he showered. The roaring sounds of the shower being turned to its max filtered through the door into Urahara's bedroom. The blonde sat on the edge of his bed, brows furrowed in frustration. Ichigo was being reckless; he could sense a growing restlessness in Ichigo's spirit, unstable even though it was not any stronger than it was before. There was a storm brewing within the boy, and if he could feel it, surely the boy knew it. The fact that he refused to speak of it grated on Urahara's nerves.

Did Ichigo not know that he was only trying to protect him? Was he so dense, or had his desperation blinded him?

Urahara was no stranger to extreme and unorthodox methods of training. He had, after all, forced Ichigo to discover his shinigami powers within seventy two hours, and had invented the three-day bankai training method. But he didn't know these people, and their methods and the potential, unpredictable outcome unnerved him.

The faucet was turned off; the abrupt silence that followed seemed especially absolute, and Urahara could hear Ichigo toweling off, sliding the shower curtain to the side, and then the boy appeared at the door, his bare skin flushed from the hot shower. Urahara found himself transfixed on the sculpted body; his eyes following the thin rivulets of water trickling down from underneath Ichigo's hair along his neck, his chest, along the curves of his torso, thighs, and then down to those strong, firm calves.

Ichigo obviously knew what kind of effect he had on the older man, and his lips curled up into a half-smile.

Urahara laughed when he realized that he was caught. He reached out, gesturing for the boy to come to him, and Ichigo obeyed. The bruises stood out starkly against the otherwise flawless skin, and Urahara's throat constricted at the thought of the pain that Ichigo must've endured in the process. Wordlessly, he held the boy close and nuzzled the flat stomach, relishing the warmth from the still-damp skin.

"Sleep for a bit before you go," he said, guiding Ichigo to lie down on his bed. "I'll go get you a cup of hot tea."

Eyes already heavy, Ichigo nodded and pulled the covers around his naked body. Urahara's bed was warm, and it held his scent; Ichigo felt an odd sense of comfort from it and a contented sigh left his lips. A few minutes later Urahara was back, and he sat up reluctantly to accept the soothing drink.

The hot liquid heated him from within, and he sighed again, feeling his aching muscles relax further. As Urahara took the cup back, Ichigo leaned forward and pressed his lips against the blonde's.

"Not today, Ichigo." Urahara chuckled into the boy's mouth, but he couldn't help groaning when Ichigo slid his tongue between his lips. The warmth from the tea lingered on the boy's tongue and it felt shockingly hot against his own. The kiss dragged on for a few more seconds before Urahara pulled away. "You should rest, you know. Take a break. You're going to break apart if we do this now."

Ichigo's eyes flashed in a mixture of emotions that Urahara could not identify, then the boy was on him again, his tongue insistently prodding and prying his lips apart.

Amused and surprised by the boy's sudden aggressiveness, the blonde kissed back despite his concern for Ichigo's health.

And then there was a sharp pain, and Urahara flinched away from the kiss. His hand flew instinctively to his mouth, but even before it reached there he could already taste the metallic tang on his tongue. He brushed his injured tongue gingerly against the insides of his lips, carefully assessing the damage. The cut was deep, and he was bleeding a fair amount.

There were no apologetic words, no comforting hugs from Ichigo, only hoarse, ragged breathing. Urahara eyed the boy warily. Something was not right; Ichigo's  _reiatsu_ fluctuated, wild and erratic around him. His eyes were dark behind half-closed lids, and his unfocused gaze made Urahara's blood run cold.

"Ichigo?" Urahara whispered, reaching out slowly for the boy's face.

"Do you not want me?" Ichigo's voice was low.

"Of course I do, Ichigo," Urahara replied. A sense of dread seized his chest as he finally recognized the anomaly in the boy's spiritual energy. "But you are not Ichigo, are you?"

Ichigo raised his head. The blonde felt his heart sink as the boy's eyes opened fully to reveal golden-yellow irises against black scleras. The thin, pale lips stretched wide into a chilling grin.

"I see my  _king_  has good taste." The harsh, high-pitched voice of the hollow held no hint of Ichigo's warmth. He looked at Urahara, his gaze cold, calculated, and held more than a little curiosity. Keeping his eye contact, he slid out of the bed and circled the blonde, his pace unhurried, smooth. It reminded Urahara of the way a predator would size up its prey right before an attack.

Urahara stared back calmly. Inside, he was furious; furious at himself for not being able to stop this from happening, and furious at those people who dragged Ichigo into this. His eyes flicked to a corner of his room, where his walking stick leaned against the wall.

_Too far._

The hollow noticed the eye movement, and he laughed—a sharp, maniacal cackle unfit of Ichigo's lips. But there he was, standing a few feet away from Urahara in all of Ichigo's naked glory. And he seemed to have just noticed the fact, too. Looking down, he ran his long, thin fingers along his body—Ichigo's body—caressing the smooth skin and lingering on the patches of yellow, blue, and purple.

"Tsk tsk, the king doesn't take care of his body," he said, his nose wrinkling in distaste. Then, looking up, he grinned. "But you like it anyway, yes?"

Urahara kept his face blank. He had a bad feeling where this conversation was heading.

"See, he gets all these bruises, tsk," the hollow complained, twisting his body around to inspect all the other injuries. "And not to mention the ones  _inside_." His eyes narrowed as his smile widened. "I think my king is quite a sadist. See, he  _loves_  it when you take him. He begs for it, I feel his lust for it."

The blonde's fists tightened, and he stood up and paced slowly away from the bed.

"I think he gets off from the pain," the hollow went on. His hands slid down to his torso and came to rest at his crotch. "I  _feel_  it when you fuck him, you know. And boy, do you know how to fuck." The pale fingers circled the still-soft flesh, then he held it up and wrapped his fingers around it. Cooing softly as though he was petting a puppy, he stroked the length, slowly coaxing it to erection.

"Stop," Urahara said, even though he knew it was useless. It was sickening to watch Ichigo's body being defiled like that. Those were Ichigo's hands, but they felt dirty, foreign.

The hollow looked up and grinned. "But why? I think you like it." To make his point, he walked towards the blonde, his fists still busy sliding up and down Ichigo's flesh.

Urahara looked away, sick to his stomach. The sight was obscene, and he couldn't bring himself to watch. If he couldn't do anything to stop this, at least he could save some of Ichigo's dignity by not committing such an image into his memory.

"You getting hard yet?" the hollow asked, licking his lips. He drew up in front of Urahara. "I think you're getting hard. Can I check?"

Urahara brought up a hand to block him. His eyes once again flicked to his walking stick—his sword.

"But you wouldn't cut him, would you?" The hollow pouted, blinking his eyes in mock innocence. "If you cut him, he might not let you shove it up his ass anymore. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

"There are many ways I can incapacitate you without cutting him," Urahara said quietly. There might be, he was still thinking of one, though. He continued to pace backwards slowly, trying his best to walk towards his weapon without being caught.

"Liar, liar..." The hollow leaned in close enough to breath against Urahara's neck. "Pants on fire," he whispered.

Urahara felt the hollow circle to his back, and he turned to follow.

The hollow laughed. "What is he gonna do? You must be thinking," he said slyly.

Urahara's eyes narrowed. What, indeed.

"You know, I've always wondered if the king ever thought of taking  _you_. You see, it's not fair that you're getting all the fun." The grin widened and a sharp tongue slid out between the lips. The hollow dragged his tongue lewdly along his lips. "Shall I help him? Give him a taste of that smooth, tight ass of yours? Or is it already loose from decades of use?" He threw his head back and laughed, amused by his own joke.

Urahara took another few steps closer to that precious corner. Just...one...more...step.

"Tsk tsk tsk, so sneaky." The voice came from behind his ear. Shocked, Urahara whipped his head around and ducked just in time to avoid a blow to the face. He jumped away from the hollow and groaned inwardly. Now the hollow was between him and his sword. And the hollow knew it.

Pale fingers traced the outline of the walking stick almost lovingly, and then they wrapped around the hilt and brought it up in front of the pair of black, golden-yellow eyes. "Sneaky," the hollow said again, eyeing Urahara with a smirk. He examined the hilt closely, and then with an experimental twist, the walking stick popped open and he drew out the sword hidden inside.

"Beautiful," the hollow praised. Smiling, he brought the blade up to his mouth and stuck out his tongue. Without flinching, he ran the blade along the tongue, letting the edge slice shallowly into the flesh. Blood—Ichigo's blood—spilled and dribbled down Benihime's blade.

Urahara could hear his own joints pop as he curled his fists. The hollow was toying with him, taunting him by torturing Ichigo's body in front of him, knowing that it would get to him. To his dismay, it was working.

"So, will you let Ichigo fuck you?" the hollow asked. His smile was a horrifying sight; the lips were smeared with blood and stretched thin into an unnaturally wide grin.

Urahara sucked in a deep breath. "But you are not Ichigo," he said. He could probably use  _kido_ , one of the lower spells, perhaps, to minimize the damage to Ichigo's body. But then again, if it was too mild, it would not be enough to subdue the hollow.

The hollow chuckled as though he could read Urahara's mind. "Tsk tsk, so selfish," he said. He slid the sword fully out of its sheath and ran his fingers down the blade. Blood bloomed from the tips of Ichigo's fingers and dripped down along Benihime.

Urahara gritted his teeth. His fists tightened as he made a decision. " _Bakudo no. 4, Hainawa._ " A thick yellow rope of light shot towards the hollow and curled around his body. The hollow yelled a curse, and then he fell to the floor with his arms tightly bound to his sides, growling and shrieking as he went. Benihime clattered to the floor.

The blonde cringed; hearing those sounds from Ichigo's lips gripped his heart like a vice. In five quick strides, he reached the fallen form and reached out to deliver a blow to the head, his intention being to knock the hollow out cold. He would think of how to get Ichigo's consciousness back afterwards.

But just as he reached out his hand, the hollow let out a screeching laugh and lunged at him. The ropes disintegrated soundlessly and both of them crashed onto the floor, with the hollow on top of the Urahara. The blonde bucked, trying to shrug off his opponent. He felt a tug on his hair, then he was yanked up and thrown down roughly on the floor. He scrambled to get up, and then there was the sound of something snapping, and he froze.

The hollow held his hands up; one finger—Ichigo's finger—was bent at a crooked angle, obviously broken.

"Are you going to be a good boy now?" The yellow irises flashed, and the pale face was split into a cruel grin. He held up another finger and began to bend it back.

"No! Stop!" Urahara yelled, eyes widening in horror. He sat still on the floor and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

The hollow stopped and smiled. "Get up."

The blonde hesitated, knowing where this would lead.

There was another sickening snap.. "He only has ten of these, you know," the hollow said, raising his eyebrows. "Eight more chances, then I'll have to find something else to break."

Urahara stood up, his blood boiling with rage at the way Ichigo's body was being abused.

"Now, walk nicely to that night stand." The hollow's voice took on a feigned sweetness even as his words became more cruel. "Hold on to the edge tightly, will you? I don't want you to fall over and break your neck, you know. It's not as fun if you're not screaming."

Wordlessly, the blonde did as he was told. He felt the hollow walk up behind him, and then he stumbled as his legs were suddenly kicked apart. Cold hands went to his hips—Ichigo's hands—and with a swift tug, his pants slid down his thighs. He shivered as the hands stroked his skin slowly; the touch was almost gentle, which made it even worse, because it reminded him of Ichigo.

There was a rough nudge against his entrance, and then the hollow was fully sheathed inside. There was no loving preparation that he always gave Ichigo, only a searing pain that tore him from inside out. His knuckles went white as he bit his lip to muffle the scream that had gathered in the back of his throat. It was painful, but he was no stranger to pain. He could handle pain; what made this unbearable at a whole different level was the knowledge that this was Ichigo's body.

He closed his eyes forced himself not to think, not to feel the burn inside as the hollow delivered one violent thrust after another, to ignore the hot liquid that slid down his thighs as he bled. He forced himself to tune out the ragged moans and the warm breaths against the back of his neck.

Was the boy in there somewhere and watching helplessly as his body was used in such a brutal act? For the sake of Ichigo's sanity, Urahara hoped not.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. There was a stinging spread of warmth inside, a chuckle, and then he was left gasping for air. He felt a pair of lips brush against his ear, and the hollow whispered, "Don't worry, he won't remember a thing."

Urahara turned, just in time to see the hollow break another one of Ichigo's fingers. The lips curled up one more time in a chilling grin, and then the dark eyes rolled up in his head and Ichigo slumped onto the floor.

* * *

Ichigo rolled over to his side and wrapped the covers tighter around himself. It was so comfortable in Urahara's bed that he didn't want to get up. But he must; it must be dinner time already, and Yuzu would be wondering where he was.

Urahara noticed the boy stirring and approached the bed cautiously. The hollow had said that Ichigo wouldn't remember, but Urahara knew better than to believe the evil creature. He winced, limping slightly as he slowly sat down on the bed next to the boy.

"Ichigo," he called softly.

Ichigo mumbled and curled up tighter under the covers. Urahara reached out and brushed his fingers through the boy's hair; Ichigo leaned into his touch. It did seem like he really was unaware of what had happened. Good, it shall remain that way. Forever.

Urahara had healed Ichigo's fingers while he was unconscious. The way the hollow had so easily broken them without the slightest remorse stayed in his mind, and he found his own hand shaking in anger as the bones began to set. Before draping the covers over the boy, he had taken a towel and cleaned him, removing all traces of fluids. His face remained stoic even as the towel came away stained with his own blood. All he wished for was that the boy didn't remember the incident.

And it looked like he didn't, and that lessened Urahara's pain. He would have to consult his old friend Yoruichi to find a way to handle the hollow within the boy, or perhaps Shinji and the Vizards.

The feeling of Urahara's fingers in his hair was calming, and Ichigo felt even more reluctant to get up. But when Urahara called his name again, he finally did.

"What time is it?" Ichigo yawned.

Urahara glanced at the clock. "Seven thirty," he replied.

"Ah, shit," Ichigo grumbled, kicking off the covers hurriedly. "Yuzu's gonna kill me." As he climbed out of the bed, he gave a surprised "eh?" when he realized that he was fully clothed. He didn't remember putting on his clothes after showering.

"I didn't want you to catch a cold," Urahara said with a smile. "Did you sleep well?"

Ichigo adjusted his t-shirt and shrugged on his jacket. "Yeah," he said. Then he scowled at the blonde. "Did you put a sleeping pill or something in the tea? I swear I passed out after drinking it."

Urahara laughed, secretly sighing in relief. "No, you were just really tired," he said. He paused, searching for the right words. "Ichigo, how about taking a break?" he asked carefully.

"Huh?" The teen looked at him, confused at first, then he straightened up with a frown as he understood what the older man meant. "Come on, we're not talking about this again."

"I'm not asking you to stop, just...rest for a few days, let your body heal," Urahara tried a different angle.  _Just a few more days, then you won't be sad anymore_.  _If it works_ , his mind added helpfully, reminding him why he mustn't tell the boy about it yet.

"I can't," Ichigo said flatly. "I'm really close, I can feel it."

* * *

Karin looked at the clock and grunted in impatience. Her brother was late. Again. It was getting ridiculous.

She didn't know what had gotten into her brother. For more than a week now, Ichigo had come home late, even past dinner time sometimes. And that was annoying, because Yuzu insisted that they wait for him.

What could he be up to? She frowned and tapped her finger on the table, feeling restless. She had tried asking, but her brother had skillfully changed the subject, so she gave up in the end. It was beyond frustrating.

He seemed very tired, too. When he did come back, he walked as though he didn't have enough energy to drag himself up the stairs. Karin grunted again. This was driving her up the wall.

Could Urahara Kisuke possibly know what might be going on? The guy was a fucking prophet, always showing up at the right time, luring away the more persistent spirits. They were harmless, but they kept bugging Karin, hanging around her like they expected her to help them. But there was really nothing she could do. She wasn't like Ichi-nii.

And he was always there for them when the dangerous kind came near them. He asked her not to tell her brother, saying that it would make him worried. She understood; she wasn't blind to what happened to her brother. And so she kept quiet.

 _Maybe_  he would know what's plaguing her brother. Even if he didn't, it was time to restock her repellent and stuff anyway, so it won't be a wasted trip.

Having made up her mind, Karin shouted a hasty goodbye to Yuzu, then before her twin could protest, she slipped out of the house and made her way to Urahara Shoten.

* * *

"I thought you would understand, Kisuke," Ichigo said, beginning to lose his patience. "Of all people,  _you_  should understand how I feel."

Urahara's frustration was also bordering on anger now. They've argued about this from his bedroom to the living room, and still Ichigo refused to listen to him. "It's not worth risking your life for it."

The teen rubbed his face and sighed loudly. "I don't understand why you're so fucking worried, Kisuke!"

There was a stretch of silence, and then Urahara exhaled slowly.

"Because I care, Ichigo," he said finally.

Ichigo looked up, startled. Never once had they talked about how they felt about each other. He supposed they did care for one another, but they'd never said it out loud. His eyes softened.

"Kisuke, I know you think I'm stubborn and immature," he said, touching the blonde's hand. "But this really means a lot to me. It means I can protect my family again."

Urahara couldn't hold it back anymore. "Ichigo, just wait for a few more days, I already have—"

"Ichi-nii, we're not that fragile, we can take care of ourselves," a sharp voice cut in.

The two men turned around in surprise to find Karin standing at the door with her hands on her hips. The frown on her face was proof enough that she was related to Ichigo.

"We're not as helpless as you think, Ichi-nii. I have the proper tools to protect ourselves, and Urahara-san looks after us all the time," she admonished.

Ichigo looked stricken, stung by his sister's words. Hearing her say that, dismissing his one aching wish so casually, hurt more than she could ever imagine. It hurt so much he could almost feel it physically in his chest. For a moment he couldn't breathe, and when he finally could again, he cracked.

"All I want is the power to protect you and Yuzu!" he said, his voice rising as his pain turned into anger. "Does it mean nothing to you? You'd rather rely on an outsider than your own brother?"

Shocked by Ichigo's sudden outburst, Karin shrank back. Urahara stepped in front of her.

"Ichigo, get ahold of yourself," Urahara said calmly. He felt it again, the undercurrent of madness in the boy's  _reiatsu_. He cursed inwardly.  _He_  was toying with them; Urahara had no doubt that the hollow was behind this, preying on the boy's desperation, fanning his need to become stronger. The more unstable Ichigo became, the easier it would be for it to take control. Urahara understood now: the incident in the afternoon was only a warning, a "preview" of what he could do.

The tension in the living room grew. They stared at each other; Ichigo breathed heavily, his eyes fierce and full of hurt, while Urahara simply stood still. As silence wore on and Ichigo didn't move, Urahara thought the worst was over.

That is, until Ichigo blinked. The next time his eyes opened again, the scleras were black and the irises a gleaming yellow. He cocked his head to the side slowly, as though seeing his surroundings for the first time, and then he grinned.

Karin gave a little shriek of fright at the sight of her brother. Urahara pulled her behind him and kept himself between Ichigo and the girl.

"Well well, looks like the king is not needed after all," the hollow said, chuckling softly. He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. "Tsk tsk, you took good care of him...and after what he just did to you, too." He leered at Urahara. "Does it still hurt?"

Urahara kept his face expressionless, but his body tensed. It didn't go unnoticed; the hollow threw his head back and cackled.

"You know, I feel kinda bad for him." The dark eyes took on a mocking look of pity as he paced slowly in front of the blonde. "He works so hard, pushes himself so badly, went through all that pain and trouble, and what does he get?" He stopped and peered at Karin, who clung to Urahara's clothes. "Nobody supports him," he said a sing-song voice, and then let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Can you blame him for running to the only person who believes in him?"

He began to pace again. "You know what finally broke him?" he asked, examining his fingers with mild curiosity, twisting and bending the ones that were freshly healed. "It's when his baby sister said that she doesn't need him anymore."

Karin ran forward before Urahara could grab ahold of her. "I didn't say that!" she shouted, her cheeks becoming pink in indignation and worry. She did her best to hold her tears, and so they teetered on the corner of her eyes, threatening to slide down at any moment.

"Oh, but you might as well," the hollow said, smiling at her. And then his eyes flicked up to Urahara's face. "And  _you_ , he thinks very highly of you. His mentor, his  _lover_ , he thought he could trust you, thought that you understood him when nobody else did. Yet, you betrayed him." His eyes then traveled down to the walking stick in Urahara's hand. "See? You're even carrying your weapon. You don't trust him at all!"

He let out another exaggerated sigh. "Yes, yes," he said, rubbing his chin as though deep in thought. "I pity him,  _my poor king_." He paused. "How about this? I could at least do him a favor and get rid of all the ungrateful bastards in his life, how about that? Hmm?"

Despite posing his words as a question, he launched into action even before he finished speaking. In a blur of movement, Urahara's walking stick was in his grasp. There was a metallic glint, and then Karin screamed.

Another voice overlapped hers; a hoarse, furious yell, followed by a high-pitched, distorted shriek. The hollow's sword hand remained extended, but his other hand gripped it tightly, stopping it from moving further. One of his eyes was still black and yellow, but the other was quickly turning back to its original white and brown.

" _You will not hurt my sister!"_  Ichigo growled. His fingers dug into the skin on his other hand, fighting for control of his body.

Karin stared, frozen from fear and shock, as his brother struggled. It was like a freak show, a tug-of-war between two hands belonging to the same body.

The hollow howled in Ichigo's head, unwilling to give up his hard-earned control. It had waited for so long, lying dormant in his once-powerful king, just waiting for the right time to strike.

"Ichigo, believe in yourself." Urahara's voice was soft, but it gave the push that Ichigo needed.

" _You will not hurt my sister!_ " he screamed, squeezing his eyes shut. He heard a bitter laugh in his head as the hollow reluctantly relinquished its hold, and then just before the laughter subsided, it whispered, "But how about your lover?" There was another series of chuckles, and then the voice disappeared.

Ichigo's eyes snapped open and he stared at the sight before him in horror.

Urahara stood in front of Karin with a smile of relief on his face. Except, there was a deep wound in his chest—from the sword that Ichigo had not stopped in time after all. A crimson stain was quickly spreading, soaking his robe.

"Kisuke!" Several voices came at once, and then there was a flurry of activity; Tessai and Yoruichi rushed in from the door, Karin stumbled away, Ururu wailed, Jinta gasped, and through it all, Urahara remained standing with that same smile, looking at Ichigo with a proud glint in his eyes.

Ichigo's hands trembled, frozen in place, Benihime still in his grasp. "Kisuke," he croaked.

"It's okay," the blonde whispered. "I'm glad you're back."

Then, his knees finally buckled, and he collapsed into Yoruichi and Tessai's arms.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	10. Chapter 10

Time stood still.

It was so silent that Ichigo could hear every ticking clock in the shop; on the walls of the living room, kitchen, on his wrist. And in Kisuke's bedroom.

They'd been in there for a long time, Tessai and Yoruichi, doing their best to treat their old friend. They had been surprisingly calm as they moved him into his room. At first, Yoruichi had cried his name, her voice hoarser and more frantic than Ichigo had ever heard. She had clutched her friend to her chest, and the blonde had simply lain there in her arms, silent and still. But once she got over the initial shock, she helped Tessai lift the unconscious man, and they brought him to his bedroom and closed the door.

Nobody yelled at Ichigo.

It was Ururu who finally pried Benihime from his rigid fingers. She smiled at him kindly and squeezed his shoulder. It's going to be okay, she said. Yoruichi is here, and everything will be okay.

Ichigo wished someone would scream at him, scold him, slap him, blame him for hurting Kisuke as much as he was blaming himself.

 _Kisuke, I'm so sorry_.

His chest seemed to have shrunk over the past few hours, making it harder and harder for him to breathe. Every beat of his heart echoed through his entire body; he heard it in his ears, felt it in his arteries. Every second that slipped by without a word from Yoruichi and Tessai served as a stab in his stomach.

He wanted to throw up so badly, but he couldn't move. His body hadn't moved ever since he planted himself in the hallway right outside of Urahara's bedroom.

Karin stayed around for a while before Jinta escorted her home. There was no point crowding around the place; it wasn't going to speed up Kisuke's recovery.

But did they really need that long to find out whether Kisuke was going to be okay? Ichigo slammed his knuckles into the floor again. They'd already begun to bleed, but he felt nothing. It didn't sting. Or maybe it did and he was just too numb to feel it.

If only he had listened to Kisuke. If only he had never met Kugo Ginjo. If only he had been strong enough to control his inner hollow. If only, if only, if only.

If only Kisuke would blame him for hurting him. But no, Ichigo knew he didn't. His eyes had said so before they slid closed.

He slammed his fist into the floor again, ignoring the blood stain that had begun to smear the clean wooden floor. A hand rested gently on his shoulder, and he turned to see Ururu crouching next to him with a cup of hot tea. Ichigo shook his head.

Hot tea. That was the last thing he accepted from Kisuke's hand before everything went to hell.

"He's strong, he will be okay," Ururu said softly. Her eyes were sad. Ichigo knew she was saying that to him as much as she was telling herself from the way her lips quivered when she spoke.

There was a creak from the wooden floor boards, the click of a door knob, and the bedroom room swung open slowly.

Ichigo sprang to his feet, his throat so tight that he couldn't make a sound.

Yoruichi stepped out, followed by a sombre-looking Tessai. Ichigo wasn't worried to see the large man with a serious expression; that's just how he looked all the time, even when he was telling jokes. It was the pale lips and tired eyes on the woman's face that made his breath hitch in his throat.

It couldn't be that bad, could it? Ichigo's mind screamed. Surely Kisuke had had worse injuries than this, hadn't he?

Tessai pulled Ururu into his arms for a hug. The girl began to sob, her earlier composure breaking down in the presence of her other guardian.

"Ichigo, come," Yoruichi touched Ichigo's arm lightly and gestured for him to follow her back into the room.

Ururu whimpered and struggled in Tessai's arms, obviously wanting to go to Kisuke too, but Tessai held her firmly and whispered something in her ear. She listened, then after a long look at Ichigo, she stopped moving.

The door clicked closed, and Ichigo was plunged into semi-darkness. He felt Yoruichi hold his arm, but he shrugged free from her grasp and stumbled to Kisuke's bed.

The blonde was on his back. His eyes were closed, the pale lashes resting peacefully on his cheeks. They'd draped a blanket over him, covering him up to his chest, hiding his hands which were resting by his sides. The only shred of cloth on him that Ichigo could see was the bandages around his chest. They looked clean; there was no blood.

Ichigo sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, his eyes transfixed on his unconscious lover. The heavily bandaged chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He turned to Yoruichi and waited for her to explain.

"We've done everything we can, he should be awake by now," the woman said, her warm golden eyes duller than normal. "We don't know why he hasn't woken up. It's really not a serious injury at all."

Ichigo stared at her and silently begged her to elaborate.

"Physically he's absolutely fine, we've healed him completely," Yoruichi continued, frowning in frustration. "I don't know what's going on."

"So...so he's in a comma, or something?" Ichigo asked, his voice raspy from his dry throat.

Yoruichi shook her head. "Not really. He didn't hit his head, and that stab wound was the only injury he had. Well, besides..." She bit her tongue and continued before Ichigo could notice, "Anyway, the physical trauma shouldn't have gotten him into this state." Her brows furrowed again as though she had something in mind but wasn't sure if she should say it.

Ichigo caught Yoruichi's look. "Mental trauma?" he guessed.

"Perhaps," Yoruichi agreed. "Except he didn't display any sign of shock or distress before he went down. If anything, he seemed...happy." She chose the only word that she could think of at the moment, and saw the boy bite his lip.

Ichigo swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "But you do have suspicions," he guessed again.

Yoruichi scratched her head in a gesture of uncertainty; yet another thing that Ichigo had never seen on her. "Well, yes, more like a wild guess really. Nobody has ever heard of something like that actually happen, not even Ukitake. But I've asked him to dig some more, see if it could be hidden in old records."

When Ichigo simply stared at her, she sighed and continued, "Thing is, he was stabbed by his own  _zanpakutou_. That's the only thing that's, you know, different from all the other injuries that he'd had in the past." She paused for a bit. "My wild guess is, his condition is related to Benihime."

"You mean...you think he's not waking up because of Benihime?" Ichigo blurted out in disbelief. "Can such a thing happen?"

Yoruichi spread her hands. "It's possible. You know how we have to meditate to communicate with our  _zanpakutou_ , right? From the outside, we'd look just as unresponsive."

Ichigo turned back to Kisuke. Could it be? Was he really just in his inner world, talking to Benihime not unlike how he had done in his own with Zangetsu?

"But he should be able to wake up if he wants to," Ichigo said, tapping his fingers on his thigh as he mulled over the possibility. "We can enter and leave as we wish. Why would he  _not_  want to wake up? He must know that we'd be worried."

Yoruichi began to pace with her hands crossed behind her back. "See, here's where my guess gets  _really_  wild," she said. "I think he  _can't_  leave."

"Like, he's stuck?" Ichigo asked in surprise. "How?"

The woman stopped in her tracks and looked at Ichigo. "I think Benihime is holding him hostage."

* * *

Ichigo held Kisuke's hand in his own. He hated how limp it felt; he was used to the strength he had drawn from this hand, the reassurance it could convey with a single touch, and the pleasure it brought as it snaked down his skin. All things that he had taken for granted. Kisuke was strong, powerful, reliable; like a mountain that could never be conquered.

The thought of the man being caged in by his own weapon was beyond Ichigo's comprehension.

He had asked Yoruichi why Benihime would do such a thing to her wielder.

"Perhaps she thinks that she's protecting him," Yoruichi had replied.

"But that doesn't make any sense," Ichigo had argued.

And it didn't, until Ichigo remembered Tensa Zangetsu's words.

" _What I want to protect is different from what you want to protect._ "

Tensa Zangetsu had refused to teach Ichigo the technique because he wanted to protect Ichigo. So perhaps it was not that uncommon for a  _zanpakutou_  to have its own will in such things, even if what it did was against its wielder's wish.

Perhaps Yoruichi's wild guess wasn't that wild after all.

Ichigo left Kisuke's bedside and went to find Yoruichi. He found her sitting in the kitchen, talking quietly with Tessai.

"Is there a way for me to enter his inner world?" he asked.

Yoruichi and Tessai stared at him incredulously.

"I'm afraid I have not heard of a way to do that," Tessai finally answered, his deep voice filled with sorrow.

Yoruichi's features softened when Ichigo's face fell. "I could ask Kurotsuchi to do some research on that," she offered, although she didn't sound hopeful.

Ichigo stared down at his feet. "Yeah," he said softly. "That'd be great." Then he made his way back to Kisuke's bedroom and sat down once again on the edge of the bed.

"Kisuke," he asked, rubbing his face. "What should I do?"

He was, naturally, met with silence.

He slowly lowered himself and rested his head on Kisuke's abdomen. "I will do anything if it means you'll come back." A low choking sound escaped from his throat. " _Anything_ , Kisuke. Just wake up.  _Please_." His fingers curled around the blanket and his knuckles went white. "I'll do anything."

There was a sharp clunk by his feet, and his head snapped up.

Just then, the bedroom door opened. Yoruichi and Tessai froze in their tracks as all three pairs of eyes fell on the object that lay on the floor next to the bed.

"No, Ichigo!" Yoruichi dashed towards the boy.

But Ichigo had already picked up Benihime. He glanced at Yoruichi, then at Tessai, and then, in a swift movement, he drew the sword out of its sheath and plunged it into his own chest.

"No!" Yoruichi caught the boy as he slid off the bed. "No, no, no," she whispered in horror, her hand grasping the hilt of the sword, afraid to pull it out yet unwilling to leave it in Ichigo's body.

Ichigo smiled up at her, not unlike how Kisuke had smiled just hours ago, and fell limp in her arms.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	11. Chapter 11

"Fuck," Yoruichi swore, pacing back and forth, circling the unconscious boy, only to stop and begin pacing again. "Fuck!"

Tessai looked at her, as calm as she was agitated.

Yoruichi ignored his gaze. "First Kisuke, now Ichigo! What was he thinking?" She stopped and glared at Ichigo, who was lying on his back on a light mattress next to Kisuke's bed.

"He can't see you, you know," Tessai commented, earning him a similar glare.

"I don't get it!" Yoruichi threw her hands up in the air. "Where'd it go? What the fuck happened?"

Tessai didn't blame her for her outburst. He was feeling just as confused and curious, except he tended to keep his feelings to himself if he could help it. He remembered Ichigo falling into Yoruichi's arms; how he had slid off the edge of the bed with the sword in his chest. Tessai's heart had sunk, not so much because Ichigo was hurt, but rather because _Kisuke's_  Ichigo was hurt, if that made any sense.

The thing they both could not understand, and would not have believed if they hadn't seen it with their own eyes, was that the sword had disappeared. One second it was buried deep in the boy's chest—he really was serious about stabbing himself—and the next, it was gone. No blood, no sword, just an unconscious boy.

They had later found Benihime, tucked safely away in her sheath where Ururu had left her—next to the coat rack where Kisuke usually hung his coat. The girl swore that the walking stick—the sword—was resting at the same exact angle against the wall as she had left it.

So what was the thing that appeared next to the bed? It looked exactly like Benihime, yet it wasn't? Nobody they spoke to had ever heard of such a thing; phantom  _zanpakutou_? Even Ukitake sounded skeptical when Yoruichi told him.

Whatever it was, there was nothing they could do now except sit and wait, and hope that both of them would return.

* * *

Ichigo took in his surroundings with his mouth hanging open in awe. Majestic—that was the word that came to his mind as he turned around in circles, looking at miles and miles of expansive desert land that stretched on as though it would never end. The sky was a startling blue, yet it wasn't hot. It wasn't dry, either, even though one would expect a desert to be dry.

It was a strange place, certainly, but it was also a familiar place.

Ichigo was standing in what he had come to know as his training grounds; the desert-like training ground that Kisuke built in Soul Society and later replicated below his shop. But he could tell that this wasn't man-made. This was the real thing; the sand was real, the cracks in the uneven land was real, the shriveled shrubs and rocks that scattered the ground were real.

And Ichigo knew exactly, without a doubt, where this was—it was Kisuke's inner world.

It made sense that Kisuke would design his training ground based on his own inner world; it was, after all, where he first learned to become one with his  _zanpakutou_ —the most sacred, private place in his soul.

As he began to walk aimlessly, Ichigo's hand went to his chest. There was no wound, no indication that he had ever been stabbed. Yet he remembered so clearly how he took up Kisuke's sword and the wild look in Yoruichi's eyes when she realized what he was going to do.

Ichigo didn't know why he did what he did. As soon as he laid eyes on Benihime by his feet, he knew it was the key into Kisuke's inner world. There was no logic behind it, he just...knew.

His ears suddenly picked up a sharp whizzing sound; he foze. As he listened, the sound became louder—something was heading his way from behind. Reacting from instincts alone, his hand shot up. His fingers closed around what felt like a thin wooden stick, but when he brought his hand up to see what it was, he blanched.

It was a small knife; what he thought was a stick was in fact its hilt. It was pure luck that he hadn't caught it by its blade.

Heart thumping from the close call, he turned around.

And stared directly into a pair of blazing red eyes. Surprised, Ichigo backpedaled.

It was a woman, with skin so fair that Ichigo instantly thought of the porcelain dolls that Yuzu owned. Her full, blood red lips stood out starkly against her skin, and her hair—Ichigo had never seen hair so black—was pulled back, away from her face, and piled high on her head. A simple black crown nestled in the dark locks, hardly visible because it blended so well into the color of her hair, and right in the middle of the crown was a large, sparkling, oval-shaped red stone.

She was clad in a black tube top, exposing her pale, flat abdomen. From waist down she wore—again, black—Arabian-style pants; it hugged her hips perfectly, the waistband in the shape of a deep V that dipped dangerously low in front, and then it flared out from her thighs before narrowing once more at the hem above her bare feet. Her long, lean arms were decorated simply with two red bangles around narrow wrists.

But it was her eyes that made Ichigo feel something akin to fear. They burned into his like flames, bright and fierce, and he suddenly felt very, very small.

_Benihime._

The Crimson Princess.

Tall, lithe, sleek. And absolutely lethal, if her way of greeting was any indication.

Ichigo snapped to his senses when she took a step forward.

"Hi," he said, not knowing what else to say.

She remained silent, but her eyes traveled up and down Ichigo's frame as though she was inspecting him. After a few unnerving seconds, she made a dissatisfied "hmph" before crossing her arms over her chest.

" _You_." Her voice was surprisingly deep, and could have passed as sensual if not for the look of disgust on her face.

Ichigo stared at her, struggling to wrap his head around the fact that he was looking at Kisuke's  _zanpakutou_. He'd tried to picture what Benihime would look like before, just out of curiosity, but this was...this woman here, was far, far from his imagination.

Perhaps it was the deceptively innocent word of "Princess". He wasn't truly expecting to see a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl clad in a frilly pink dress, but he certainly wasn't expecting to see a deadly assassin either. Although, he had to admit, she held herself with an air of confidence and elegance that reminded him of Byakuya. In that sense, she _was_  a princess.

Ichigo's skin crawled under her critical gaze, and after a while he just couldn't stand it anymore. He cleared his throat. "Where's Kisuke?"

Benihime gave him a scowl that could rival his own. "Of all the souls in the world, Kisuke had to pick  _you_. What does he see in you?"

Her tone, and the way she had blatantly ignored his question, irked Ichigo, but he had a bigger worry on his mind. "Where's Kisuke?"

"Somewhere safe," she snapped at once. "Somewhere away from  _you_."

Ichigo felt a wave of annoyance. "Why? What's wrong with me?" he asked.

"What's wrong with you? There are too many things for me to list!" Benihime spat, uncrossing her arms and lowering them to her sides, her hands balled into fists. "Kisuke used to be strong! Fearless! He's a genius! There wasn't anything he couldn't do!" She stopped and patted her own chest to calm herself.

"He still is," Ichigo said.

Benihime's eyes flashed. "Not the way he used to be," she said fiercely. " _You_  made him weak. You made him indecisive, you made him worry, you even made him bow down to the very people who banished him from the life that he deserves." Her mouth curled up into a snarl. " _You made him value your life more than his own_."

Ichigo stared at her in bewilderment.

"He used to be carefree, nothing holds him back and he was afraid of nothing," Benihime continued her tirade. "Then  _you_  had to come along and ruin everything!"

Ichigo felt confused. He couldn't help feeling that Benihime wasn't referring to this particular incident. He was missing something, something far bigger.

Benihime looked at the boy and asked in exasperation, "You really don't get it, do you?"

Ichigo shook his head.

"You made him weak the moment he began to care," Benihime said bitterly, walking towards Ichigo with anger in her eyes. "And how did you return his love, you immature, selfish boy? You ignored him even though all he wanted to do was to protect you, you knew that freak in you was coming back but you hid it from him! Do you know what he did to Kisuke?" Her voice broke.

Ichigo's heart sank as he recalled what he did to Jackie and how he'd lost control and ended up stabbing Kisuke. It was beginning to sound like there was another episode, one that he wasn't aware of.

"What did I do?" he asked softly, afraid to hear the answer.

"He didn't want you to know because he was afraid that it'll hurt you," she said, her eyes darkening. "But I'm not Kisuke."

Ichigo repeated, "What did I do?" He curled his fists, preparing himself for the worst.

"The freak forced himself on Kisuke, just this afternoon." Benihime hissed. "And Kisuke let him, because he was afraid that your hollow would hurt you." She took a deep breath and looked Ichigo in the eye. "I screamed and screamed and begged him to fight back, but he wouldn't." Her nose and cheeks turned pink, and angry tears gathered at her lower lashes. "All because he was afraid for  _you_."

Ichigo had gone ghastly pale in horror. His stomach clenched and then all of a sudden he was on his hands and knees, dry heaving and gasping for breath. He couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe.

Benihime went on, "You know what he thought when he was bleeding and in pain? He was praying that you would never find out." She let out an eerie laugh and her tears finally slid down her face. "He was so happy when you didn't remember it. He was  _happy!_ The idiot!"

 _No, no, no._  Ichigo coughed, his throat seizing up. He thought of Kisuke; how he'd had woken him up by stroking his hair, how he'd had smiled at him, how he'd had tried to ask him, again, to stay away from Ginjo. He'd done all that despite what Ichigo had done to him.

"Where's Kisuke?" Ichigo asked, his voice raspy because he couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe, and his throat was so dry that it hurt. "Where is he? Please let me see him, please." He looked up at Benihime, no longer caring that she was looking at him like he was a piece of trash.

"No," she said. "I can't."

"Please," Ichigo choked out. He hadn't felt this desperate ever since he woke up to find his mother dead by the river so many years ago. "I just want to see him, I just want to tell him I'm sorry. Please, please!" He knew he must look and sound pathetic; he was begging on his knees, and he never begged. But this was Kisuke; he would do anything if it meant he could see him again.

"It's too late."

Ichigo felt his stomach lurch. "What do you mean?"

Benihime crouched down in front of him. "A shinigami's soul is seriously damaged when he is cut by his own  _zanpakutou_. He knew that, but he'd rather sacrifice himself than letting you go through the pain of hurting your own sister," she said in a pained voice. "That's how much he loves you, but he's not invincible, boy."

A chill went through Ichigo's body. "What do you mean?" he asked again.

"He's dying," Benihime said simply. Ichigo noticed how her voice had lost the edge of anger, only to be replaced by sorrow. "It's just a matter of time." She gestured to the horizon. "Do you see? It's crumbling, everything's crumbling. When the whole place falls apart, he dies."

"No," Ichigo whispered, unwilling to believe what he heard. "I'm sure there's something we can do. Can't you do anything? Can't  _I_  do something? He can't die, I won't let him die."

To his surprise, Benihime reached out her hand and touched his cheek. "Kurosaki Ichigo, I don't hate you," she said with a sigh. "I'm angry, yes, but I  _can't_  hate you, because I'm part of him. But I refuse to let Kisuke die without telling you how much he has done for you. That's the only reason I invited you here." She paused, then, with a determined frown, she stood up. "Now, go. I've said all I wanted to say, now you should leave."

"There's gotta be something I can do!" Ichigo pleaded. "Just tell me, I'll do it. I'll do anything, Benihime, you know I will!"

She hesitated.

Ichigo brightened, latching onto her hesitation like it was a sliver of hope. "Just tell me what to do."

* * *

Benihime led Ichigo across the vast plain. Everything looked the same around him, Ichigo no longer knew where he was, or how far he had walked from where he'd first met her. It was just mile after mile of dry land. Ichigo wondered how someone as warm as Kisuke could have such a dreary inner world, and so he asked.

The woman looked at him thoughtfully before replying. "A shinigami's inner world reflects his soul, his deepest desires, his emotions, even his subconscious," she said. "Do you remember, boy, if your inner world had changed because of your feelings?"

Ichigo mulled over her question for a moment, and he remembered. "Yes," he said. "There was once, Zangetsu said it wouldn't stop raining, and he said he felt like he was going to drown. That was when I was really sad."

Benihime nodded. "Exactly. Kisuke's world is a barren wasteland because he is always alone."

Ichigo opened his mouth to argue, but Benihime held up a hand to silence him. "Alone, not lonely. There is a difference. He stands alone because of his brilliance and complexity. He has many friends, but he had no one who truly understood him." She glanced at Ichigo. "He had nobody whom he really loved. That is, until you came along."

Ichigo blushed and felt a rush of warmth spread in his chest.

"Look," Benihime said, stopping in her tracks. She pointed to a tiny patch of green that stood out oddly against the pale beige land.

Ichigo's eyes widened in surprise. It was an oasis, and it could only mean one thing. Without a word, he took off in a sprint.

And there he found Kisuke, sitting on the ground with his back leaning against a boulder. His head was lolled to one side, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Ichigo crouched down next to him and raked his fingers through the man's pale blond hair. It was soft, smoother and finer than his own.

He heard the soft crunching sound of approaching feet and turned reluctantly. Benihime stood next to Kisuke and leaned against the boulder.

"This started growing when he first met you," she said, looking fondly at her wielder. "This is why I cannot hate you, boy."

Ichigo bit his lip, but he willed his tears away.  _I will not cry. I will not cry, because Kisuke is going to live._

Ignoring Benihime's presence, he leaned closer to Kisuke and kissed him. A light brush of lips, and then Ichigo was suddenly seized by a pain he'd never experienced before and he found himself unable to let go. He gripped Kisuke's shirt tightly and pressed their lips together desperately.

Their last kiss.

When he finally pulled away, he could barely breathe. Then, with a determined clench of his jaw, he stood up. "I'm ready, Benihime."

This was what he must do. The only way Kisuke could live.

After he'd pressed and pressed, Benihime finally told him reluctantly that there  _was_ a way to save Kisuke. A soul for a soul.

Ichigo's soul for Kisuke's soul.

For Kisuke to live, Ichigo must die.

He hadn't hesitated. His only request was one last kiss.

Now he looked at Benihime. She was no longer angry. Instead, her eyes were brimming with tears; not angry tears anymore, but tears of pain and gratitude.

"I'm ready." Then, Ichigo closed his eyes.

* * *

And then he opened his eyes and found himself staring at a blank white ceiling.

_It didn't work!_

Seized by panic, he jumped to his feet. He didn't even realize that he was screaming until he felt strong arms holding him back. Voices were calling his name and telling him to calm down.

_I can't calm the fuck down! It didn't work, it didn't work, and that means Kisuke will die!_

Then, he was suddenly staring into a pair of wide grey eyes.

"Kisuke!" Ichigo was so surprised and relieved that his knees gave out abruptly, and he almost fell on top of the blonde, who was clearly very much awake. Awake and alive.

Kisuke sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck and wincing. "Your voice can wake the dead, Ichigo," he grumbled.

"What happened? What the fuck happened?" Ichigo turned from Kisuke to Yoruichi and then to Tessai.

"Ah." The blonde looked somewhat sheepish. "I'm afraid I must apologize for Benihime's...behavior."

Ichigo stared at him in confusion. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

"You see, she's not very nice," Kisuke said with a grimace. "She has a...how I should say this...a strong will that is hard to control sometimes. She knocked me out, and then after you left, she, ah, told me that she had taken the liberty to put you through a test. A challenge, as she called it."

Ichigo's mouth fell slack from incredulity. "You're kidding me," he mumbled.

Yoruichi's voice was wry. "I see she's still as manipulative."

"They say a zanpakutou is an extension of your soul," Tessai said helpfully.

"That is a viable explanation, yes," Yoruichi agreed.

Their attempted playful banter wilted when Ichigo straightened up and began to step slowly away from the bed, eyes filled with disbelief and hurt.

"Is  _anything_  she told me real?" he asked. His voice did not tremble, but the sense of betrayal in it was obvious.

Kisuke's eyes flicked to his friends, and they nodded in understanding. Tessai rested his hand on Yoruichi's shoulder, and then, with an encouraging glance as Kisuke, they walked out of the room, leaving the two lovers alone.

For the longest time neither spoke; there was just too many things that they needed to say to each other, neither knew where to begin.

"I assure you, aside from the part that I was going to die, everything she said is true and real," the blonde said finally. He reached out and gestured for the boy to go to him.

Ichigo approached hesitantly. "So I did...I did do  _that_ to you," he whispered, feeling his heart break all over again.

Kisuke looked up sharply. "That wasn't you."

"But it was my body," Ichigo said. He felt sick. Holding his hands up, he stared at them as though they were the dirtiest thing in the world. "I didn't stop him."

Kisuke kicked off the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then in a flash he was holding the boy in his arms. Ichigo had grown taller in the recent year and a half, and he was now only an inch shorter than the older man. But in his horror and distress, he seemed to have folded into himself. His shoulders sagged and his head fell forward limply against the blonde's shoulder.

"I will not have you blaming yourself for something he did, Ichigo," Kisuke murmured into Ichigo's hair. He cupped the back of the boy's head and pulled him tighter against his own body. Ichigo felt thin in his embrace, a testament of how much the boy had pushed himself in his desperation to regain his identity.

He should've known. It wasn't a matter of gaining power; Ichigo had been searching for himself, the part of him that strove to live up to his name—protector.

"I'm sorry," Ichigo whispered, squeezing his eyes shut.

Kisuke pulled Ichigo along with him as he slowly sat back down on the edge of the bed. Clumsily, the boy climbed into his lap, his arms still hooked around the back of Kisuke's neck.

All of a sudden the room seemed too warm; Ichigo's face was too hot, Kisuke's breathing too loud, their hearts beating too fast.

Before they were even conscious of their actions, their lips had found each other, and then they were whispering each other's names and fumbling with their clothes, fingers raking across burning hot skin and touching, stroking, moving everywhere they could reach.

Ichigo jumped off and practically tore off his jeans, then, without breaking his stride he was on Kisuke's lap again, grinding their bodies together. The feeling of bare skin against bare skin was almost too much to bear; they needed each other, and they needed it now.

Kisuke's breath hitched as Ichigo balanced himself precariously on his thighs, and then with a soft cry he was enveloped in that tight, blinding heat. Ichigo buried his face into Kisuke's hair and rocked his hips, not caring if they could be overheard as he gasped and moaned. Kisuke supported the boy's weight with a death grip around the small of his back; groaning from the depths of his throat, he thrust up to meet Ichigo, their bodies connecting again and again with a sense of urgency and intimacy that was new and raw.

And then Ichigo was suddenly trembling in his arms, his name tumbling from the boy's lips in a strangled moan. The spread of warmth on his stomach that followed and the constriction of the heat around him wrung the last thread of control from his body, and he cried out his release before biting down on Ichigo's shoulder to muffle the rest.

Their breathing remained harsh as they gradually stopped moving. Ichigo's thighs and calves were beginning to hurt from the uncomfortable position, but he ignored them, until finally Kisuke decided to lie down on his back, pulling the boy with him.

Ichigo muttered something into Kisuke's neck, and the blonde leaned closer. "What was that?"

Ichigo repeated his murmured words. They were just as unclear as before, but this time Kisuke could at least tell that it was three syllables.

Chuckling softly, the blonde placed a chaste kiss on the bright orange hair resting against his cheek. "I love you too."

* * *

When Ichigo and Kisuke finally walked into the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed in clean clothes, they found Yoruichi and Tessai sitting at the dining table.

Yoruichi raised her eyebrows in amusement and snickered at the sight of Ichigo wearing her friend's oversized green robe. Tessai, however, was red in the face and looked absolutely horrified, obviously still traumatized by the sounds that he'd been subjected to earlier.

Blushing slightly, Ichigo plopped himself down at the table. "So," he said, fidgeting in his seat. "What now?"

Yoruichi smiled. "Now, I shall continue with my mission," she said, twirling Kisuke's striped bucket hat on her finger. "The reason I'm in Karakura in the first place is to look into the matter of these...mysterious companions of yours. After Kisuke told me about them, I've been monitoring them from Soul Society and doing some research on them with Ukitake." She threw the hat in the air and caught it. "We know who he is, but there are some things I need to confirm before we decide on a plan of action."

"You know Ginjo?" Ichigo asked, looking at her curiously.

Her eyes darkened for a split second before her smile returned. "Oh yes, he is...an old acquaintance," she said casually. "Just let us take care of it from now on."

Ichigo nodded. He mulled over his mixed feelings towards Ginjo and his friends; dangerous as it was, Ginjo had given him the sliver of hope that he'd been looking for, yet, it was also because of them that  _he_  had returned. He could still feel him, just simmering below the surface. After learning what he'd done to Kisuke, Ichigo's anger alone was enough to keep him under control for now, but he knew that sooner or later, they would have to face each other again.

Yoruichi caught his troubled expression and rested her palm on his arm. "As for you, Kisuke is working on it. Just have patience, Ichigo."

Ichigo looked at the blonde and suddenly remembered Benihime's cryptic words. " _You even made him bow down to the very people who banished him from the life that he deserves._ " Could it be...?

"It's really not as bad as she thinks," Kisuke said with a wry smile, reading Ichigo's expression.

"But I don't want you to..." Ichigo began, frowning. "To...bow down, or..."

"Things are different now," Yoruichi interrupted, her eyes gleaming with pride. "Soul Society is changing, Ichigo, and in many ways they're changing because of you."

Ichigo blinked. Something in their smiles told him that it was a good thing, although he was certain that they're not telling him everything. Even so, despite himself—because he was afraid he would be disappointed again—he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope.

Kisuke caught his eyes, and Ichigo immediately knew, then, that his fear was unnecessary. Because where there's Kisuke, there's hope.

And Ichigo would always have hope.

**~END~**

* * *

**I have a lot to say, haha, so the author's note here is actually the next chapter.**


	12. Author's Note

I have quite a bit to wrap up here so I decided to add my notes as a separate chapter. But first and foremost I want to thank all of you who'd followed this story and left such kind words in the process.

So, a few things.

 **Benihime -**  
As you may have noticed, Benihime looks like Princess Jasmine (I know, a Disney princess, of all things!). I didn't start from there, I swear! I first imagined what Kisuke's inner world would be like, and immediately I thought of his training grounds and decided to use that. From there, I thought of an Arabian princess (you know, desert and all), and by the time I finished picturing her in my head, I was like, "Wait a minute this feels familiar..." And then BAM I remembered that Princess Jasmine from Aladdin looked exactly like that. Doh. I considered changing her image simply because I didn't want to link Bleach with Disney, but by then I'd already formed an attachment to that version of her in my head, and I just couldn't think of her in any other form.

 **Ginjo and the Fullbringers -**  
The focus of this story is Ichigo and Kisuke, so I didn't want to (nor do I have the energy to) write exactly how this is resolved in the end. As I mentioned to Cuzosu, it'd be like writing an entire Bleach arc! :p But I've always thought that the Gotei 13 should deal with him themselves instead of standing by and watch while Ichigo goes through all that shit (really, Kubo?), so that's why I left it that way, implying that Yoruichi and Ukitake will lead the mission to deal with Ginjo. If I were to really redesign this arc, then yes, Ichigo will regain his powers and take out Ginjo's ass. =)

 **Hollow Ichigo/Shirosaki -**  
I like to think that he's part of Ichigo and will always be, no matter how strong Ichigo becomes in the future. That's why I brought him back. How he is once again brought under control in the end is up to your imagination, but I can see Ichigo wiping the wall with his blood for what he did to Kisuke.

 **The idea of something weird happening when a shinigami is cut by his own zanpakutou -**  
This is unfortunately inspired by chapter 502 of the manga. I won't say anything more in case you haven't read it yet. But, yeah. Absolutely depressing.

Thank you again, and I hope I didn't leave any of you disappointed. I'd love to hear your thoughts (the story, the ending, what I wrote up there, my writing, etc).

See you next time! ;)


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